


November Ficlets

by dancinginthecenteroftheworld



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cats, Dad Jaime, F/F, F/M, Family Bonding, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Gen, Girl Squad - Freeform, Paganism, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, a whole lotta stuff you guys, super twee small town au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-01-24 00:14:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 28,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21329032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinginthecenteroftheworld/pseuds/dancinginthecenteroftheworld
Summary: A collection of fills from a November prompt list on Tumblr. Varying universes, ships, ratings, etc. Will try to keep the tags updated, mind the relationships marked in chapters, and will put any warnings in notes at the top of the chapter, along with a general idea of rating.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Asha Greyjoy/Val, Gilly/Samwell Tarly, Grey Worm/Missandei, Jaime Lannister & Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Sansa Stark & Brienne of Tarth, Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Shireen Baratheon/Rickon Stark, Tyrion Lannister/Tysha
Comments: 399
Kudos: 305





	1. Bee (Jaime/Brienne, canon divergence)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's father tells her she has to remember the bees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences, no warnings, general canon-era.

The first time Brienne’s father tells her about the bees, she is seven years old. The hives stretch out in a meadow behind Evenfall, rows of gentle domes dotting a sea of grass. Brienne’s lessons tell her honey is one of Tarth’s main exports, prized for a purity of taste due to the limited number of flowers that grow on the small island. 

Her lessons don’t tell her why her father, face lined with grief, tear tracks still wet on his cheeks, wakes her up and tells her that her brother has been found, dead, on the beach, and that she must listen to her Septa and get dressed.

Brienne fights the white dress (one she hasn’t worn) and the hat with a large and inconvenient veil of netting, though she quiets down when she sees her father dressed in a similar hat, though the rest of his outfit is the solemn black of mourning.

Dawn is barely breaking across the sky as they leave the keep and head towards the meadow. Buzzing grows louder as they approach, the field seeming to shimmer. When they reach the edge, Brienne can see it’s because thousands of bees are flying over the flowers and grass.

She shies away, but her father takes her hands and leads her to the nearest hive. 

“When something happens,” he says, “You must always make sure to tell the bees.”

If you don’t, he explains to her, then disaster will fall onto your household and any house that takes charge of the colony. Selwyn knocks gently on the hive, so careful the bees hardly stir, no angry swarm comes out, and whispers to them that their young lord, Galladon, is dead and that Brienne is the new heir to Evenfall.

The process repeats for every hive, so many that the sun is high in the sky by the time they’ve finished. Brienne follows, watching, eyes wide, as they make their way carefully along the rows. Not once are either of them stung. 

Brienne grows to like the hives, as she gets older. She talks to the bees, not in the formal way of delivering good important messages, but casually. It’s the only time she doesn’t mind dresses, billowing white skirts and blouses with tight sleeves, designed to keep the insects from getting trapped near her skin and panicking.

The bees don’t judge her. The bees don’t mock or taunt and give her only sweetness, in the form of the thick honey she helps collect from their hives each winter. 

People fear the bees, but Brienne finds they sting far less than humans.

Brienne goes to the Hives before she leaves to join Renly’s Rainbow Guard, whispering her intentions to each hive, feeling the way the bees buzz around her. A few even land on her, gently crawling along her arms and shoulders, tiny striped companions.

There are no bees when Renly dies, in the dark, chilled night. Nor are there any in the Stark camp when she swears her sword to Lady Catelyn, when her lady tasks her with a dangerous and seemingly impossible task. 

After the Bloody Mummers, after “Sapphires,” after Jaime’s hand, Brienne feels sick to her stomach. They’re tied together, back to back, on a horse when a small bee alights on her shoulder. The smell of rotting flesh wafts from where Jaime’s dead hand is tied about his neck as Brienne tells the bee she’s of Evenfall, and whispers all that has happened to it, so soft nobody could hear (nobody but Jaime and he’s in no condition to know what’s happening around him) and begs for it to send word.

Brienne doesn’t know if it works that way, but she has to try. 

She finds bees again in King’s Landing, walking the gardens of the Red Keep, gazing at Lady Sansa from a distance. Her responsibility, her oath, looking so sad and fragile as she sits on a bench and looks into the distance with a carefully blank expression on her lovely face.

Brienne tells the bees that she’s arrived, that Sansa is married, that she needs to know how to get her lady’s daughter home. 

Brienne cries in the woods north of the Crowlands, Pod snoring gently by the fire, when she finds a roughspun hive on a tree and tells the bees that the King has died, that her charge has vanished, that she has acquired the kingdom’s most hopeless squire. 

The hives in Winterfell are burn and demolished, but a few survive, missed by the Bolton’s savagery and others have been repaired by the bees themselves.

These are different bees, fatter and furrier than those on Tarth, but bees all the same. Brienne finds Sansa there too, weeping quietly as she tells the bees that their masters, her parents, are dead, so is King Robb and Prince Brandon and Princess Arya. “Stay and serve me,” Sansa whispers. “Please, stay and serve the north.” 

The living Starks reunite, the dead come and they fight and they fall. 

“We live,” Brienne tells the hives, later. “I am a knight of the seven kingdoms, and the living have won.”

The Dragon Queen gathers an army to march south. Brienne stays in the North, watching the troops walk away. The remaining Dothraki, the Unsullied, the Wildlings, men from every kingdom who have come to fight for the living.

Ser Jaime and the tattered remnants of his army, the ones who defied Cersei, taking a place in the pack. The Hound, tall and scowling, vengeance in his heart rides too, and Princess Arya, eyes as cool and serene as the surface of a lake and a face carefully stowed in her saddlebag. 

The battle isn’t over when the Raven comes, telling her of her father’s illness, worse than any he’s had so far.

He’s old when Brienne arrives, so much older than she remembers. The first place she goes, after she greets him, after she presses kisses to his weathered cheeks and wonders how he’s somehow become shorter than she remembers, is to the hives.

Something tight in her chest eases when she sees them still thriving. Brienne tells the bees everything all over again.

The next time she goes to the meadow is months later, and she’s not alone.

“You’ll have a new master,” she says, watching the bees flit by as she speaks into the hives. “This is Ser Jaime. We are to be married.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Telling the bees is a real thing! The folklore is found across Europe and I'm not sure how far back it dates, but definitely to Victorians at least.


	2. Tea (Sansa/Margaery, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has definitely never seen this shop before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences, no warnings. 
> 
> May result in the purchase of yarn and/or tea.

The shop is so adorable Sansa stops dead in the street. It's freezing cold outside,she can feel the tip of her nose going numb where it peeks out over the fluffy scarf she's wrapped around her neck and chin, and that just makes everything look even cozier.

Through the windows she can see shelves and shelves of brightly colored, fluffy yarn and in the center, a counter with tins of tea in tidy rows, while other shelves hold pretty teapots and cups and saucers. A few comfy-looking chairs and some adorable painted tables are clustered in front of the windows.

Sansa is supposed to be meeting her family for dinner, she's supposed to go over early but there's no way she can NOT go into this shop.

The door opens with a tinkle of bells and a rush of blessedly warm air. Sansa takes her time making her way to the back counter, stopping to admire the colors and fondle some of the yarn. There's an exquisitely soft charcoal grey cashmere that would make a perfect hat for her dad and some sturdy-looking burgundy that would look lovely in a sweater for Rickon. Though Sansa is not terribly optimistic at the idea of getting Rickon to actually wear a sweater, but maybe if she makes it as a hoodie she can talk him into it.

Sansa also spends a long time sorting through some vibrant self-striping sock yarn, wishing she could afford to buy one in every color. She does pick up a skein in a lovely mix of green and red and brown that reminds her of Weirwoods, to make a pair of socks for Bran's increasingly expanding crazy sock collector.

By the time she reaches the counter, Sansa is warm enough to loosen her scarf and shove her mittens in her coat pocket. She really needs to be leaving, but it wouldn't hurt to take a look at the tea selection.

There's a petite brunette working the counter, her back to Sansa, wearing a darling cropped cardigan over a slinky pencil skirt that makes Sansa envious. She'd love to have the kind of body that makes a skirt like that look so good.

Sansa clears her throat, and when the brunette turns around, she feels her brain white out for a second. 

Part of the girl's head is shaved, her eyes bright and challenging, and her lips twisted in a slight smirk and Sansa can feel her heart skip a beat. 

"Hi," the girl says, and Sansa tries to form sort of words as a response.

It comes out more like a whimper. Sansa blushes, looking over to a wall of notions and trying to get her brain back online.

"I haven't seen this shop before," she says, carefully avoiding looking directly at the beautiful woman in front of her. "You must be new."

"Yes, it's my brother's actually. We're still building up our tea selection, but I can recommend something from what we have - do you prefer black or green? We have a lovely earl grey, I was just putting a pot on for myself if you'd like to try. It's fantastic with our lemon bars."

Sansa means to turn back and say she can't stay, but she'll take a lemon bar to go, only she looks over and the woman is smiling, dimples creasing her cheeks.

Dimples, lemon bars, and an undercut. It's like someone made a list of all Sansa's weaknesses and put them together in a delightful package.

"That sounds great," she finds herself saying. "I love lemon bars."

She tries not to stare as the brunette carefully loads a tray with the tea and treats, or at the way her hips sway as she leads Sansa to the tables at the front.

"I'm Margaery," the woman says,as they sit down, flashing another smile Sansa's way. "I do hope you'll stay a while."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shop is somewhat based on La Maison Tricotee in Montreal. I wanted to move in there, no lie.


	3. Basket (Jaime-centric, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime hasn't been this excited for Christmas in possibly ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences, no warnings.

Jaime hasn't been this excited for Christmas in a long time. Possibly ever, considering he barely remembers the years before his mother died and the family Christmases after hadn't been much fun, even for children. 

As an adult he basically stopped celebrating beyond the obligatory family dinner, and it was fine enough, but some part of him always felt a little bit pathetic.

Now, though, Jaime has reasons to celebrate, and he's going to take them.

If not for himself, for his niece and nephew, whose holidays have been as miserable as Jaime's so far. 

Jaime had his assistant decorate the apartment (or maybe hire someone to do it, Jaime isn't entirely sure) and it's dripping with greenery and lights and sparkling ornaments. There are piles of presents under the tree, and two overly stuffed stockings hanging from the mantle. (Two more are at the foot of Tommen and Myrcella's beds, Jaime might have gone a little overboard when asking Peck to pick up gifts.) 

It's far grander than anything his father ever did, though Jaime is still frustrated by the lack of homeliness that seems present in other people's houses this time of year. He doesn't know what he's missing, but something seems just slightly off.

The kids haven't noticed, though, just like they didn't notice the mild panic after Jaime realized most restaurants are closed on Christmas Eve. Pentoshi takeout saved the day, and afterwards they'd eaten Christmas cookies and drank glasses of (non-alcoholic) eggnog. Myrcella had begged to watch Miracle on 34th Street and Jaime had read them both the Night Before Christmas before Tommen put out a glass of milk and cookies for Santa. 

That had led to another round of panic, since Jaime had thought he was past the age of believing, and a number of quick google searches on how to salvage the situation. 

Luckily neither child has paid too close attention to the boxes under the tree, so Jaime was able to frantically unwrap a few and put them out with a hastily made tags written with his left hand to disguise the writing. 

The best gift of all though, is the one that should be arriving shortly. Jaime checks his watch again and casts a nervous glance at the kid's bedrooms. He's told them they're not allowed to come out until 6 o'clock, but it's getting awfully close, and he can hear rustling sounds from behind both doors. 

Jaime threatened to drop kick Tyrion across a yard if he's late, but now he's wondering if he should have found another solution. 

Finally, Tyrion pulls up and Jaime rushes outside to take the basket from him. Five-fifty. They're cutting it very close.

"Put that in my room," he hisses, nodding at the cat carrier Tyrion is holding. The cat inside slumbers on, oblivious.

Jaime takes the basket, lifting one edge of the fabric printed with tiny gingerbread men and candy canes and peeking inside. Two little pink noses bob towards him, and he hastily recovers the basket, tucking the edge (which is even sewn, he wonders where Tyrion found pre-sewn fabric) in as best he can, and adjusts the bow on the handle.

Then he shoos a grumpy Tyrion back outside, to wait around the block, and hastily retreats to his bedroom, closing the door, just in time to hear doors open and excited squeals as the kids enter the living room. 

"Santa came!" Myrcella shouts, as Jaime opens his door.

The kittens start meowing, as if on cue, and Tommen's eyes get huge.

"Looks like it," Jaime agrees, leaning against the doorway. Myrcella is already opening up the art kit Santa had left for her, running her fingers over the paints and pencils with a look of joy. 

"Why don't you open the basket?" Jaime suggests, when the meowing grows louder and Tommen doesn't move. Myrcella finally takes his hand and tugs him over and they kneel in front of the basket together for a few minutes before Tommen finally peels back the fabric.

Both kitten heads pop up immediately, sniffing excitedly at the kids. The Siamese-looking one is closest to Tommen, and he scoops it up and walks over to Jaime. 

"Kittens," Tommen breathes, looking awed. 

Jaime's throat gets tight. 

"Yeah," he agrees. "Kittens."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime Lannister: OH SHIT I NEED GOOGLE. The two stocking thing comes from my own childhood, and started because two grandmother figures knit me stockings and nobody wanted to offend either. (I guess switching every year would ... still make someone mad? Nanna held grudges like a champ.) So became the practice of putting one on the bed, which I was allowed to open and amuse myself with until a "reasonable hour" when I was allowed to wake my parents up and proceed to the rest of Christmas (including family stocking opening) together.
> 
> Now we all have two stockings because my mother and I buy shit all year long, forget we've done it, and have too much come Christmas Eve. FAMILY.


	4. Full Moon (Girl Squad, Teen Pagan AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is nervous about this, but she won't let Sansa down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences, no warnings

It’s freezing cold in the Weirwood grove, and Brienne wishes, just for a minute, that she’d stayed an anti-social loser and never made friends.

She doesn’t _really_ mean it, of course, it’s just a little bit difficult to remember how much she loves her friends when she can’t feel her fingers or her toes.

Sansa is bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

“Our first full moon together,” she says, beaming. 

Arya is next to her, rolling her eyes. The two almost never get along, but the circle is one of the few things Brienne’s seen them agree on. Even if they have different ideas about how exactly it should go.

Shireen is fumbling with her necklace, which Lyanna has been holding for Shireen since her mother is a fundamentalist who would absolutely lose her shit if she found out Shireen was practicing witchcraft in an Weirwood forest. 

Ygritte and Meera are lounging around in short jackets, looking for all the world like it’s a brisk fall day. Not close to freezing, windy, and dark. Then again, they grew up in the north. Brienne has only just moved here, and it’s _cold_. She sends Margaery a miserable glance, and the other girl nods in sympathy. 

“What are we going to do?” Talisa asks. Brienne has AP bio with her, but she’s never spoken to Talisa at all. Frankly, Talisa is kind of intimidating, being beautiful and smart and confident. 

Then again, Brienne doesn’t know most of the girls here. Besides Sansa and Arya (who she loves, but preferably separately), she mostly only hangs out with Shireen and Lyanna. She’s worked with Gilly on a class project before, and Ygritte and Margaery are fine, or would be if they didn’t terrifying her with how loud and outgoing they are. 

It’s Daenerys and Missandei that are making Brienne nervous. They’re some of the most popular girls in school, and Brienne can’t help wonder if they’re up to something. She knows she shouldn’t distrust pretty, popular girls so much, but she can’t help remember all the pranks and jokes she’d been the butt of on Tarth.

It’s a big part of why her dad picked up and moved to the freezing north, because he couldn't stand another day of his daughter coming home from school in tears. 

Brienne would probably distrust Sansa and Margaery too, if their parents handn’t been friends with her dad for ages. They’ve been friends since they could hardly walk, since long before it was clear that Sansa and Margaery were lovely and feminine and Brienne was … not.

“After we cast the circle and call the directions,” Sansa is saying, “I thought we’d do an initiation.”

“An initiation?” Alys asks, looking wary as Arya pulls a large, ornate dagger from a sheath at her side.

Huh. Brienne had thought the sword belt was for show. 

“So we can trust each other,” Sansa says and motions for them to join hands. 

Brienne finds herself between Gilly and Shireen. She grips their hands, thankful for the warmth and wishing once again she’d worn mittens. They chant together to call the circle, and then some girls volunteer to call the direction. Ygritte “kissed by fire” in the south, Lyanna in the North, Talisa in the East and Missandei in the West (after Brienne studiously avoids Sansa sending pointed looks her way). 

Then Arya tosses the dagger from hand to hand before she and Sansa demonstrate the ritual. The dagger passes along the circle, each girl’s words ringing out clearly in the night sky. 

“It is better that you should rush upon this blade, than enter the circle with fear in your heart,” Shireen says, facing Brienne and reaching up to hold the point of the dagger to Brienne’s chest. “How do you enter?”

Brienne resists every urge telling her to hunch over and whisper, forcing herself to straighten her back and use a normal voice. 

Sansa has been so excited for this, so thrilled to finally have 13 girls. Brienne can’t be the one to ruin it for her. 

“With perfect love and perfect trust,” Brienne says, hoping nobody can tell she’s lying. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, it's every teen girl in the '90s watching Charmed and The Craft and Buffy.


	5. Cats (Jaime/Brienne pre-relationship, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime just wants to adopt a kitten, this shouldn't be that difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General, no warnings. 
> 
> Takes place some weeks prior to Ficlet 3.

Jaime checks the address of the animal shelter three times when he pulls up. It looks like an abandoned warehouse on the outside, the kind of place he expects to find someone making illicit drug deals in the back corner, nothing at all like the cheerful images of animals finding forever homes posted on the website.

The inside, at least, is more promising. The walls are painted bright colors (he recognizes one from the photos) even if he's hit with the smell of cat litter and wet dog as soon as he opens the door. There's a chorus of barking echoing from behind one of the sets of doors and the counter is empty. Jaime rings the bell and overs awkwardly in front of it, not entirely trusting the dingy, threadbare chairs.

A slight redhead comes out, barely older than his niece, and greets him with a smile.

"I'm looking for a cat," Jaime says. "It's a Christmas gift for my nephew and –"

"BRIE," the redhead hollers, her pleasant smile dropping from her face. "We have another one."

Another one of what, Jaime isn't sure, but he's distracted from wondering about it when the absolute tallest, blondest woman he's ever seen emerges and joins the redhead at the desk.

She's even taller than Jaime is, and he isn't exactly short. The woman also has the most stunning blue eyes and more freckles than Jaime thinks should be possible. Ugly, is his first thought, followed immediately by fascination at the way she strides to the counter and squares her shoulders like she's ready to fight.

"Animals aren't gifts," the woman says shortly, scowling at him. "We're here to find homes for these animals, not send them off to be abandoned again by someone they loved."

"It will have a home," Jaime starts, but she cuts him off again.

"For how long? Until your nephew stops taking care of it? And then his parents get annoyed and then what?"

Jaime opens his mouth, but the woman just keeps going.

"They don't want to take care of it, they don't want pets or they'd have already adopted a cat, and you just shove one at them. Then they're right back here, dumping the cats on us again, taking up cages and reducing the number of animals we can save. And on top of that, the cats have gotten attached, so now they don't understand where the human they've come to love is and why they aren't good enough anymore."

The woman is shouting but her eyes are glistening in a way that suggests she's about to cry. Jaime thinks she's taking it all too personally, but he also doesn't think arguing will help his case.

"It will _have_ a home," he says again, and barrels on when the woman opens her mouth. He can play that game, too. "With me. I'm Tommen's legal guardian, so I'll be the one taking care of the cat."

The redhead breaks into a smile again at those words, though the tall blonde keeps glaring at him. 

"Cats are a lot of work," she says. "Have you ever even owned a pet?"

"No," Jaime says. "But I don't mind a bit of work."

"Brie," the redhead says softly, looking between them.

Brie snorts.

"They'll claw your sofa," she warns. "And throw up on your fancy rugs and shed all over your expensive clothes."

Jaime isn't even wearing expensive clothes, not really, just jeans and a cashmere sweater, this is just getting ridiculous.

"I'm sorry, do you not want to find these cats a home?" he snaps. "Or are you just sad nobody wants to take you back to their house?"

Brie takes a deep breath and looks like she's about to say something, but the redhead sets a hand on her arm, and the taller woman deflates.

"You'll need to sign," she says, from between gritted teeth. "Saying you'll bring them back to us if you don't want them, not just dump them on the street, and if you return them you won't be allowed to adopt again."

"Fine," Jaime says. He expects her to go back to whatever she was doing before, but she stomps out from behind the counter and leads him through a set of doors.

There are, frankly, a lot more cats than Jaime expected. Racks of metal cages line the walls, three in a column, with at least one cat in each. Some of them have more than one, and the scent of litter is even stronger here. The cage floors are covered in newspaper, though some also have blankets.

Some of the cats are loud, meowing frantically as soon as the door opens, and others cower in the corner of their cages. One particularly energetic animal is climbing the wire door of his, flipping around, and coming back down again, wailing dramatically all the while. Another hisses as they walk by.

It's frankly overwhelming. 

Brie leans against the wall, arms crossed, glaring at him. 

Jaime strolls along the line of cages, watching as cats run and hide or stretch paws out to bat at him as he passes.

"Look, Brie," he says, after his third or fourth circuit. 

"Brienne," she interrupts.

"Brienne," he emphasizes, rolling his eyes. "A little help would be nice."

"It's going to be your cat."

"Seriously, _why_ do you even work here if you don't want to adopt these animals?"

"I want to adopt them. Just not to you."

"You don't even know me!" Jaime is almost shouting now. He runs his hands through his hair.

"I know enough," Brienne says mulishly. She jabs her finger at one of the cages. "This cat? Sweet, loving, and she's been brought back here twice. First was because her owner's daughter stopped cleaning the litterbox and that was the punishment. Second time, the owner redecorated and the fur didn't match and was easier to see on the new sofa, so back she comes. Just because money buys you whatever you like doesn't mean you get to treat living creatures like that."

"I'm not planning to!"

"Yeah, but have you thought this through? You clearly don't know anything about cats."

"Well, we can't all live in our apartments with seven of them and become spinsters," Jaime says, and is pleased when Brienne flushes a deeper shade of red. She barrels on anyway.

"What are you going to do when it gets sick? Or claws your favorite shirt? Let me guess – you don't know. You just thought about how cute it will be to see your nephew's face on Christmas morning, and everything else will sort itself out."

"What I thought," Jaime says, stalking closer. He can't loom over Brienne, not when she's taller than he is, but his anger is still a powerful force. "Is that my nephew is dealing with the death of his father, his mother being thrown into a mental institution and he's lonely and the only things he's spoken to since I took custody are stray cats on the street."

Brienne has the grace to look embarrassed, but she doesn't back down from where she's toe to toe with him. 

"What I thought," Jaime continues. "Is that he loves cats more than pretty much anything, and the only time he had one, it disappeared and I'm pretty sure his brother was responsible. But since that brother is now in jail, maybe Tommen can finally get something he wants, for once in his goddamn life."

When Brienne finally speaks again, her voice is more subdued.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she says. It sounds stiff, but sincere, and Jaime inclines his head in acknowledgement. "I just want you to understand how much goes into owning a pet."

"Well, as you pointed out, I'm rich. If the cat claws my shirt or my sofa or whatever, I'll buy a new one. If I get tired of cleaning the litter box, I'll hire a maid. I'm not going to bring the cat back. I could never do something like that to Tommen, after everything he's been through."

That seems to do convince Brienne, at least enough for her to ask some questions about Tommen and what he likes. Then she shows him a number of cats and kittens, insisting on bringing them out of their cages for Jaime to hold, although he really can't tell much difference between them other than furry or more furry, squirmy or less squirmy. 

In the end, he settles on two kittens, because Brienne is of the opinion that an older cat with an established personality would be better, but Jaime _has_ thought about Tommen's face on Christmas morning and he loves kittens so much that Jaime will take the risk, because apparently kittens are better behaved in pairs. 

They're almost to the door when Jaime's attention is caught by a yellow card on the front of one cage, the number 2 scrawled on it in sharpie. 

"Is that how long she's been here? Two days?" he asks.

"No," Brienne sighs heavily. "She's been here over a year. That's how long she has left until we have to put her to sleep."

Jaime peers into the cage. All he can really see is a pile of black fluff in one corner – he almost misses it at first. 

"Is she sick?"

Brienne stares at him like he's being exceptionally dumb.

"No, but we can't keep animals here forever." She makes a clicking noise, and the cat's head perks up, amber eyes flicking over them both. "She's a sweet girl, but she's lazy and she's already 9 years old. She could have plenty of years left – my oldest cat is 17 and going strong – but most people are more excited about kittens."

Jaime feels guilty, suddenly, about the two playful kittens he's picked out. Tommen will love them, of course, probably more than a lazy cat, but he didn't know they killed animals if they weren't adopted.

"I'll take her too," he says impulsively.

Brienne gapes at him.

Jaime grins.

It looks like he's going to have three cats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adopt, don't shop! Or feed the stray cat under your porch until one Halloween, you open the door and it strolls in and sits in the middle of your kitchen like, yes, this is where I live now. Whichever.


	6. Soup (Brienne & Sansa Friendship, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne tries to tell herself she's not getting sick, in hopes of making it be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences, no warnings. Takes place some time after Cats, but before Basket.

Brienne tells herself she’s not getting sick, refuses to give in. It works for a couple of days, but by noon on Thursday, she’s coughing and sneezing so hard there’s no way she can do her scheduled surgeries. Plus, her last patient’s owner had backed away and glared at her from the corner of the room.

Asha had looked her over and pushed her towards the door, telling her Pod had already rescheduled the appointments for the afternoon and made space for Asha to cover the most urgent operation (neutering for a kitten who had started marking already and whose owner was at wit’s end). 

Brienne drags herself home, not even bothering to stop at the pharmacy, because one she admits she’s sick, it seems to hit her all at once. By the time she gets in the door, she has just enough energy to take off her shoes and collapse on her couch.

So she’s surprised when she wakes up to the sound of soft music and the smell of garlic wafting from her kitchen. 

Brienne must make some noise, because Sansa pops into the doorframe, looking sympathetic. Her red hair is gathered in a messy ponytail, and she’s wearing an apron that Brienne definitely doesn’t own. 

Brienne tries to ask what’s going on, but all that comes out is a painful gurgle. 

“Asha called me,” Sansa says, correctly interpreting the noise. “Well. Asha called Theon, and Theon called Robb, and Robb called me. But same thing. We really do need to all exchange numbers.” 

Brienne raises her eyebrows. 

“Anyway, she said you were pretty sick, so I brought supplies and I’m making you some soup!” 

With that, Sansa pops back into the kitchen. Brienne glances over at the coffee table to see it’s now covered with boxes and bottles of medication, several boxes of herbal tea and a giant box of Kleenex. 

It’s first time in years anyone has taken care of Brienne when she’s sick, but she still hasn’t all her questions answered. She gathers the blanket around her shoulders and shuffles into the kitchen, trying not to trip over Honor, who is winding between her feet as soon as she heads that way. Probably in hopes he’ll get fed.

Sansa is setting the kettle on the stove when Brienne comes in, Goldenhand the Just watching intently from the floor, his fluffy tail swishing gently back and forth. 

“How did you get in?” Brienne manages to croak, though it makes her throat feel like it’s on fire. 

Sansa looks over from where she’s stirring a bubbling pot, a slightly guilty expression on your face. 

“Your landlord is old friends with my mom. He took my word for it when I said we were friends.” 

Brienne frowns. Sansa _is_ her friend, but Baelish really shouldn’t give out her key so easily. 

“Anyway, back to the couch, you!” Sansa hustles Brienne back to the sofa, reappearing shortly after with a cup of tea to insist Brienne take some cold meds. 

“Baelish is creepy,” Sansa says, when she returns with a steaming bowl of soup. It smells delightful. “I’m sorry you have to deal with him.”

Brienne shrugs. She really just avoids the man for the most part, other than paying rent. Or if something breaks that she can’t fix – or learn to fix, given how miserable Baelish gets when having to deal with maintenance. 

“This is my favorite when I’m sick” Sansa says, gesturing at the bowl. “Garlic soup.”

It’s surprisingly delicious, considering Brienne has never heard of garlic soup before, thick and fragrant, served over a thick slice of bread. She’s scraping the bottom of the bowl quickly. Sansa beams. 

“I’ve made enough for a couple meals,” Sansa says. “But I’ll come back tomorrow? How do you feel about chicken noodle?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [soup](https://forkitletseat.wordpress.com/2011/02/18/zuppa-di-aglio-fresco-fresh-garlic-soup/) is from Patricia Cornwell's cookbook, and I first found it back in the dark ages when you checked books out from the library to find new recipes! It's REALLY good.


	7. Fairytale (Jaime/Brienne, Modern AU, Explicit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's gown looks amazing. Jaime wants it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit. No warnings. 
> 
> This is a modern AU, not part of any particular verse, but follows a fairy-tale themed ball Sansa throws for her 21st birthday. Sansa tricks Brienne into admitting to her favorite princess (Cinderella) and sews Brienne a gown to wear, instead of the knight costume Brienne planned. Jaime is 110% on board with this plan.

There’s a terribly awkward moment when they step through the door to Jaime’s apartment, Brienne staring at him like she’s not entirely sure why she’s here.

Jaime plans on making it extremely clear to her. 

“I love this dress,” he says, stepping close, crowding her back against the door. The full skirt crumples around their legs. “I want to get you out of it as fast as I can.”

Brienne gasps, red rising in her cheeks, like this isn’t where they’ve been headed all night. 

More than all night. This is where they’ve been headed for months. Possibly years.

Kissing Brienne is a revelation. Jaime could spend hours just kissing her, sucking on her lips, feeling the way she moves tentatively against him, the shy way her tongue darts into his mouth. 

Except he can’t ignore the rest of her, the tantalizing expanse of skin that’s been driving him to distraction all night long. 

Brienne’s breath catches when he moves to start kissing his way down her neck, a sharp whine escaping when he sets his mouth over her pulse and sucks. 

“You taste so good,” Jaime tells her when he comes up for breath. Her eyes are closed, head tipped back against the door, her chest heaving with every breath. 

“Jaime,” Brienne says then, eyes fluttering open. There’s almost no blue left, her pupils dark with arousal. “What are we ....?”

“If you have to ask, I’m not doing a good job,” Jaime says, tracing his finger along the tops of her breast where the neckline of the dress dips low. Brienne shivers. 

“I’ve never ... I mean,” Brienne starts. 

“Do you want to?” Jaime asks, because of course he knows that, he doesn’t _care_, but he can’t do anything if she doesn’t want to.

“Do you want to?” Brienne parries back, like it’s a fencing match, like this is an argument not a dance.

Jaime pushes even more into her space, shoving her skirts aside until he can slot himself between her legs, press his aching cock against her thigh. 

“More than anything,” he says. It’s an embarrassing display of honesty. “But if you don’t.”

Brienne clutches at his shoulders, grip too tight, he’s going to be bruised in the morning. Jaime loves it. 

It’s a Herculean effort to not thrust against her or lower his mouth to her skin until she answers.

“Yes,” Brienne finally says, and relief rips a groan out of Jaime’s throat. 

He doesn’t give Brienne a chance to second guess herself, kissing her furiously as he guides them backwards towards his bedroom. Brienne kicks her shoes off at some point, because it gets easier and Jaime doesn’t have to walk quite so much on his toes, and her arms are smooth and soft where he runs his hands all over them.

It’s more skin than Jaime has ever seen her show, and it’s not enough. Jaime spins her around in the bedroom, shakily undoing the line of tiny buttons on the back of the gown. Too many fucking buttons, each one revealing only the slightest amount of skin for Jaime to press his lips to as he goes. 

Each kiss draws the loveliest noises from Brienne, though, gasps and sighs and whimpers, sounds he’s never heard from her before. By the time he’s able to shove the blue silk off her hips, Jaime feels more desperate than he can ever remember being. 

The noise he makes when he sees the delicate blue panties she’s wearing underneath is almost inhuman.

“Fuck,” Jaime says, spinning Brienne back around and urging her backwards, until she’s flat on the bed, blond hair spread out around her. “Fuck, Brienne, I want to do everything with you, I can’t -”

Jaime closes his lips over one pink nipple, sucking and nipping until Brienne is arching and writhing underneath him. 

She looks so fucking gorgeous like this, a flush spreading from her face down to her breasts, her mouth swollen and red, because of him. _For_ him. Him and nobody else.

All Jaime’s careful plans and fantasies fly out the window, all his vows to savor her and make this so good for her, when he slides his hand downs and finds she’s so wet she’s soaked through the silk she’s still wearing. 

Brienne keens when he runs his fingers over her, she’s like a furnace, so hot even with a layer of fabric between them. Jaime nearly tears her panties in two in his haste to get them off, Brienne lifting her hips to help, shifting restlessly on the bed. 

“Please,” Brienne says, when he hesitates, sliding his fingers around the crease of her thigh, over the soft curls on her mound. “I need ...”

“What?” Jaime kisses her ribs, sucks a line of bruises under her small breasts. “What do you want?”

Brienne’s hips rise and fall, chasing his hand. 

“I don’t know,”she says. She sounds close to tears. “I just – Jaime, _please_.”

Jaime shushes her, leaves soothing kisses along her skin. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, sliding his hand over, parting her gently with his fingers, feeling how much wetter she is, how hot and perfect. “It’s okay.” 

Jaime is so hard it hurts, but he pushes it away, focuses on the way Brienne moans when he runs his fingers over her, circling her clit. He wants to draw this out, see how long he can string her pleasure, but Brienne is staring at him now, eyes wide with wonder and she sounds like she hurts almost as bad as he does in her need to come. 

“Look at you,” Jaime says, kissing her between words. “So fucking gorgeous for me, you’re doing so good.”

He slides two fingers inside, feeling her clench around him, god she’s so unbelievably tight, Jaime can’t help thrusting his hips, rubbing his cock against her in rhythm with his hand. 

“I want to see you come,” Jaime whispers in her ear, circling her clit hard with his thumb. “I want to see you come apart for me, Brienne.”

Brienne’s voice rises with every moan, every gasp. 

“Please let me see you,” Jaime says, only vaguely aware he’s begging, because he does need it, more than anything, suddenly. She’s pitching her hips forward, throwing him off, and Jaime slings his leg over hers to hold her still, wishing suddenly he’d taken his pants off to feel her skin. 

Jaime’s thumb presses harder, rubbing at her, focusing on the spots that make her moan the loudest, curling his fingers inside as he moves faster. The pressure of her hip against his cock is so good, she’s moving faster as she gets closer, and so is he. 

“Fuck, Brienne,” Jaime moans into here. “Fuck this is so good, you’re going to kill me when I get my cock inside you, you’re so perfect.” 

He turns his thumb, scraping slightly with the edge of his nail and then Brienne is clenching even harder around him, her whole body shaking as she wails. Jaime’s vision whites out then, biting into her shoulder as he feels himself spill inside his pants, nothing more than friction and the sound and feel of her pushing him into the most intense orgasm he’s had in years. 

Jaime comes back to his body slowly, the feel of Brienne’s hand smoothing over his forehead. He’ll have to move, have to pull his fingers from her warmth, clean them up, try to explain that he can make it better than this, can appreciate her for what she’s worth but all he wants to do right now is let his eyes drift closed, cuddle closer to Brienne, whisper how much he loves her into her ear.

So he does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing smut first thing in the morning is ... interesting. Work is gonna be exceptionally painful after this.


	8. Nov 8: Smile (Jaime/Brienne, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime wonders if the sulky woman from the animal shelter ever smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences. Takes place after cats but before basket.

The shelter is just as dingy and worn down when Jaime shows up for the second time. This time the front desk is manned by a weasley-looking kid with floppy hair, who is slumped over his phone. He barely looks up when Jaime tells him he’s here to pick up his cats, just shouts for Brienne, who appears from the backroom, stomping and frowning just like before. She doesn’t soften at all when she sees Jaime, not even when he gives her his most charming smile.

He wonders if she ever smiles, or if her face is permanently fixed in a look of displeasure.

Jaime had been disappointed to find he couldn’t take the cats immediately after his last visit. They’ve now been sent to the vet, spayed and neutered (the kittens, the older cat is already fixed) and brought up to date on all injections. Now there’s a pile of additional paperwork, which he scrawls on with his fountain pen.

Jaime doesn’t always carry a fountain pen, but it seems like the sort of thing that would make Brienne twitch, so he’d grabbed one off his desk on his way out the door.

It does indeed make her lip twitch in a most amusing fashion. 

“You’ve got everything you need?” Brienne asks. 

Jaime is very tempted to say no, because technically he doesn’t. Tyrion has it, since his brother will be keeping the cats in his apartment until Christmas morning. 

“Yes, wench.” Jaime smiles at her again, watching the scowl deepen. She’s so easy to wind up it’s almost unfair. 

He’d gotten a list of supplies, and dutifully purchased litter boxes (hideously ugly, someone really should make a better option), the food the shelter uses, bowls, brushes and toys. He’d even sprung for the fancy water fountain the pet store clerk had assured him was best for making sure cats stay hydrated. 

It’s also ugly. 

Jaime wonders if pet suppliers are _trying_ to make owning animals as unappealing as possible or if they just don’t care about design.

Brienne is tapping her fingers on the desk, looking at the carriers he’s hauled in and stacked next to him.

Three, as instructed, because apparently even kittens can’t share.

“You’ll need to switch them to better food,” Brienne says. “The stuff here is – we can’t afford better, it’s not bad, but there’s higher quality. Especially for Brenna, she’s getting older. And you’ll want to make additional vet appointments for the kittens, in about two months, we’ll give you a coupon for a discount. Brenna won’t need to go for a while, but you’ll want to take her in about six months out, she’ll need a full senior checkup.”

Brienne is rambling, which seems out of character even if the brief time Jaime’s interacted with her. 

“I will take care of them,” he says, trying to put enough seriousness into her voice. 

Brienne nods stiffly, and paperwork completed, hands Jaime the coupon (some place called Starfish Veterinary) before leading him back. 

The kittens are as personable and loving as they were the first time, rubbing their little cheeks against Jaime’s hand and pawing at him as he lifts them into the carriers. 

Brienne slows when she approaches the older cat – Brenna, the shelter has been calling her, though Brienne assured him the animal would adapt to whatever name he chooses – and opens the cage.

“Hi Brenna,” Brienne coos, in a tone of voice Jaime definitely does not expect to hear from an angry Amazon. She sounds almost maternal. 

“You’re gonna go to a new home,” Brienne says softly, gently pulling the fluffy black cat from where she’s curled in the corner of her cage. “You’re going to have good food and warm places to sleep and people to love you, won’t that be nice?” 

Brenna curls against Brienne’s chest when Brienne holds her, and Jaime is shocked to see the woman’s eyes glistening when she turns around.

“Are you crying?” It comes out before Jaime can stop himself. 

Brienne’s face turns red, which only serves to emphasize the blue of her eyes and what are definitely tears gathering. 

“Brenna’s been here a long time,” Brienne says defensively. She doesn’t stop stroking the cat, and Jaime is struck by how long and graceful her fingers are, in contrast to the rest of her. “I’ve spent a lot of time with her.”

“So why not adopt her?”

“I can’t.” Brienne sets Brenna in the carrier with a sigh, carefully packing a rather tattered looking teal blanket with her. “I already have ... more cats than my building would like. Any more and I’ll be evicted.” 

Jaime wonders how many cats, exactly, it takes to get evicted. 

Maybe his earlier joke about seven wasn’t far off. 

“She’s a very sweet girl,” Brienne says, fixing Jaime with a hard stare. “I know plenty of people ignore the paperwork but if you can’t handle her, _please_ bring her back here, not somewhere else. I’ll ... I’ll figure something out.” 

As much as she’s glaring, there’s something terribly sad in Brienne’s face. It makes Jaime think of how Myrcella had looked in the meeting with social workers, masking her sorrow with anger. That must be the reason he opens his mouth again. 

“You can visit her, if you want.” 

Jaime is pretty sure the last thing the cat wench will want is to associate with him, but she does look awfully sad. 

“Funny,” Brienne says dryly. 

“No, I mean it,” Jaime finds himself insisting. “I’ll give you my cell, just call and we can set it up.”

Brienne still looks skeptical. 

“You can tell me all the things I’m doing wrong,” Jaime offers. “I’ve never owned cats before, as you’ve pointed out, so you can check up on us.” 

The kittens mew agreement from their carriers. Jaime holds his hand out for Brienne’s phone. 

It’s a long pause before she hands it over, and Jaime dutifully keys his numbers in.

Why he puts the name as Jaime, The Most Handsome Cat Owner, he doesn’t quite know. 

It’s quiet again, as Brienne helps him carry the animals out, since it’s a lot harder to balance three carriers when there’s moving animals inside them, until they get to his car. 

“Do you mean it?” Brienne asks, after she’s carefully seatbelted the carriers into place. “About visiting Brenna.” 

Jaime doubts she’ll actually call, but he will let her come over if she does.

“Of course.” 

Brienne’s smile, it turns out, is almost as pretty as her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying not to do TOO many prompt fills in this AU and apparently failing miserably. Anyway! Enjoy.


	9. Nov 9: Mist (Arya/Gendry, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya does not remember meeting the new mechanic. She definitely would remember if she had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General Audiences. No major warnings, but fic does contain non-graphic discussions of field dressing and butchering an animal. The animal was not purposefully killed, but the fic does reference hunting.

Arya shouldn’t have been driving in this weather. She’s fully aware of this fact, and the reality that the car accident is most definitely her fault.

But it had been an unseasonably warm day for November, and given October’s shockingly swift plunge into cold weather, Arya couldn’t resist taking a trip out to the mountains to steal one last good, long hike. 

It had been glorious, the trees bursting with fall color and the sun warming her up along with the activity. But she’d stayed too long, and by the time Arya made it back down to the parking lot, all the other cars were gone and the mist was rolling in. 

By the time Arya was approaching Westeros city limits, the mist had grown into fog so bad she couldn’t even see a full car-length ahead of her. She’d slowed way down, put on her hazards and prayed to make it safety.

If she was smart, Arya would have stopped at the turn off to the Reeds. They’d certainly let her stay until the weather cleared. But she’d kept on, relying on memory, and it had gone well, right up until the deer came bounding across the road in front of her.

Arya knows she’s lucky. She’s not hurt, though she’s already feeling a massive bruise where her seatbelt sat across her chest, and her car isn’t nearly as bad as it could be. Plus, she’d manage to avoid having the deer come through the window and taking an antler to the chest, so that’s a plus.

But when she’d called Bear Island, Jorah had grumpily informed her it would take at least an hour for a tow, because she’s too far out for him to come without closing the store.

Arya’s lucky enough to have a trunk packed full of useful items, so she passes the time by field-dressing the deer and salvaging as much meat as she can, packing into spare coolers. She also calls Uncle Benjen to report the incident, and maybe tease him about getting a beautiful set of antlers with no effort.

The fog has brought with a drop in temperature and by the time Jorah pulls up and takes a good look at her car, Arya is shivering in her light sweatshirt and jeans. She’s pulled on her emergency hat and fingerless gloves from her backpack but her fingertips are still numb. 

Her dad will lecture on not taking a jacket, hauling out his “always be prepared for the worst when you’re out in the woods” speech but Arya knows the trail so well, she hadn’t bothered with one, just her bright orange don’t-shoot-me vest. 

Jorah grumbles about how far out she is, the entire trip to Valyrian Steel. Arya’d called Mott too, and he’d assured her he’d take the car even though it’s Saturday.

Except when Jorah pulls up, it’s definitely not Tobho Mott standing in front of the open bay. 

Arya barely stops her jaw from dropping at the sight of the tall man leaning against the door frame, looking disgruntled. 

“Who the fuck are you?” she demands.

The man raises his eyebrows.

“Nice greeting for someone who’s coming in on their day off to save your ass,” he says. 

“This is Tobho’s garage.” Arya narrows her eyes suspiciously.

“What do you think I did, whack him in the head and tie him up in back?”

Arya shrugs.

“Jesus Arya, I work here,” the man says. “Mott’s busy, he asked me to get your car sorted out.”

“How do you know my name?” Arya demands.

The man starts laughing. Arya doesn’t see what’s so funny about it.

“Oh my god, you don’t recognize me,” he says. “Think about it.”

Arya stares at him as he gets the car into the bay, still shivering. He huffs and sighs when she tells him he can’t just close up, they have to wait for Sansa to come get her because she can’t walk home with two-thirds of a deer in her arms. 

She doesn’t recognize the man, no matter how many smirks he sends her way. He seems like someone Arya would remember meeting, and he seems to be enjoying her confusion. 

He also insists she take his spare sweatshirt when he notices how much she’s shivering, even if it comes down to her knees and the sleeves hang down past her hands, something that sends him into a new round of laughter.

Arya would punch him, if she didn’t need him to fix her car.

“Who _are_ you?” she asks again, while he’s examining the way the front of her car has crumpled in.

“You really don’t remember,” he says. “I’m insulted, m’lady.”

Arya blinks. 

“Gendry?!?”

Arya remembers Gendry from when he worked for Uncle Brynden. He’d come over to mow the lawn, too, and tease her for sitting on the porch like a spoiled noble lady instead of helping.

Gendry had not been that tall then. Arya doesn’t remember his eyes being so blue either. And he definitely hadn’t had biceps like that. 

This is a _very_ interesting development. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, hunting is controversial. I feel like the Starks would be responsible hunters, the kind to do so for population control and make sure all the meat gets eaten and the hides get used. As for salvaging roadkill, the legality of that varies by state, but again, it seems like the sort of thing Ned Stark might teach his kids. Arya didn't purposefully kill the deer, but it is dead so she might as well put it to good use. As per Stark family ethics, she'll keep some of the meat for herself and family, and donate the rest to the food pantry run by the local church. 
> 
> Since I referenced them, Benjen Stark is a park ranger living somewhat North of Westeros, and he works for the Dept of Natural Resources so can clear any permitting and reporting from salvaging a deer. Great-Uncle Brynden Tully owns a landscaping company.


	10. Nov 10: Cabin (Asha/Val, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asha hasn't been to this cabin before, but she hopes to have reason to come again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences. Takes place in the small town AU, which is a multipairing verse. Fics in the universe so far are Tea, Basket, Cats, Soup, Smile, Mist and Cabin.

Asha pulls up to the cabin far later than she expects to, peering through the windshield at the large front porch.

Cabin is really a misnomer, it’s much bigger and nicer than Asha expects to find.

It’s also a lot farther up the mountain. 

Remote and inconvenient, however, it’s still not the lizards, and Asha is completely happy with the trade she’d made with Brienne. 

By the time Asha has collected her bag from the bed of the truck, the cabin door has been flung open and a strikingly tall, blond woman is on the porch, a large collie sitting by her side.

Asha tries not to swallow her tongue. 

She recognizes the woman, of course, Val Freeman owns the hardware store. When she’s at the store, Asha remembers seeing Val in spotless white and grey, hair swept up in elaborate braids. Asha’s seen her brilliantly tear down a man who questioned her ability to run the store, but she’s never really found much reason to talk to the woman. 

Which is ridiculous because Asha is good with women, she has no problem finding women eager to come to her bed.

Except, apparently, when she does.

But now Val is standing on the porch, wrapped in faded red flannel and blue jeans, her long braid loose and messy and Asha abruptly realizes she’s been staring when a small smirk appears on Val’s face. 

“The goats are out back,” Val says, when Asha’s closer. 

“What’s the trouble?” Asha asks, grateful for work to focus on.

“Nothing,” Val says. “But it’s getting time to breed them, and I want to get their bloodwork done first.” 

The collie pads along behind them.

Asha is pleased to see Val has already corralled her small herd and set up a platform and headgate that’s easy to access. The four does are well-socialized and calm as Val scoops them out of the pen and onto the platform so Asha can draw blood and do a brief wellness check.

While they work, Asha learns that Val handles vaccines and parasite control on her own, keeps a scrupulously clean barn, uses stud services rather than keep a buck, and is hoping to grow her herd more to supply milk to a cousin interested in attempting in selling products made with goat milk. 

Asha also learns that Val has a soothing, deep voice that sends a jolt of arousal through Asha, even when Val is talking about things as utterly non-sexy as affordable vaccine suppliers. 

Asha chats amiably about goat management, but she finds herself unable to work in an offer to get coffee or food or have dirty, filthy sex up against the nearest wall. It’s very unlike her.

When she reluctantly drives away, Asha finds herself hoping she’ll have a reason to see the cabin again very soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, apparently I invented a pairing? I know Val is mostly books, and I've only read excerpts thus far, so I'm making a bit of shit up. Anyway, in this town, she owns the hardware store and also has a small homestead. While Asha and Brienne both learned a pretty wide variety of animals at vet school, both agree cats and dogs are the favorite. But Asha prefers farm animals to exotics and Brienne is the reverse. It works out pretty well for them.


	11. Nov 11: Hot Chocolate (Jaime-centric, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime has no idea how he's supposed to take care of two kids, and they aren't making it easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PG for language, I guess? People say fuck. In the swear-y sense, not the fun sense. No other warnings. Part of the Small Town AU, along with Tea, Baskets, Cats, Soup, Smile, Mist and Cabin. Less fluffy this time, mostly in set up to get to the fluff. Sorry, I can't write without some angst.

When Jaime frantically tries to reach back into his memories and find something kid-friendly and comforting, it’s depressingly difficult. Being confronted with two unhappy children – Myrcella is scowling, arms crossed, while Tommen stares past Jaime with an alarmingly distant expression – doesn’t make it any easier.

Finally Jaime remembers, dimly, his mother making hot chocolate on cold days. It’s hazy, but he recalls the sweet chocolate on his tongue, mug warming his hands, watching closely with Cersei while his mother shooed the cook away and stood in front of the stove stirring and humming softly.

Jaime doesn’t have hot chocolate or know how to make it, so he bundles both children up and heads towards Wildling Coffee.

Myrcella mutters “this is stupid” under her breath and Tommen continues to say nothing. So far, Jaime’s heard him say three words in eight hours, and those were to a stray cat outside Jaime’s building. 

The surly redhead working the counter raises an eyebrow when she sees them, but refrains from her usual sarcasm. Jaime isn’t sure if that’s because he looks as bad as he feels or because she’s already heard the gossip about what went down at the Baratheons. 

Tommen curls into one of the chairs, head down, looking at his knees. Myrcella flops dramatically into hers, heaving a sigh as if being taken for hot chocolate is the highest form of punishment. 

Jaime remembers Cersei being exceptionally difficult during her teenage years, but Myrcella is only 12. Surely she hasn’t yet entered that stage of mood swings and emotion. 

“I know this rough,” Jaime starts. 

“No shit,” Myrcella mutters.

“Language,” Jaime says mildly, and Myrcella rolls her eyes. 

The social worker had warned him this would be difficult. 

“I just want you to know I want to make you as comfortable as you can be, under the circumstances,” Jaime says. It feels like a very sterilized and polite way to say, while your mother and brother are locked up for probably murdering your father. 

“Do you even know how to raise kids?” Myrcella spits out, just as the redhead comes over with a tray. 

“Don’t sass your uncle like that,” the redhead says, setting mugs down. 

She must have heard, then. Gossip travels fast in Westeros. 

“Who are you?” Myrcella asks rudely.

“Ygritte,” the redhead says, her matter-of-fact tone not changing. “And if I talked like that, _my_ uncle would have had me outside chopping wood until I learned my lesson.” 

Myrcella scowls, but she takes her mug while Ygritte turns to Tommen. 

“Made yours special, love,” she says to him, tone much softer. “Extra chocolate and cinnamon.”

“Why are you being nice?” Myrcella is not cowed at all. “Do you want to sleep with my uncle?”

Jaime’s eyes widen in shock, but Ygritte just barks out a shout of laughter. 

“Nah, too much of a fancy, pretty boy for me,” she says, giving Jaime an unfairly dismissive look. She turns back to Myrcella with a stern look. “I might’ve been through some things. Kids like us gotta stick together.” 

Myrcella rolls her eyes. “Things like what?”

“If you decide to shape up, maybe I’ll tell you,” Ygritte says. “Your uncle’s a bit of a fancy jerk but he’s not the one who caused this.” 

With that she sashays off back to the counter, leaving Jaime blinking and wondering what just happened. 

Myrcella doesn’t seem to consider the offer, and she evades Jaime’s attempts to get to know her better with short, sullen answers. Tommen doesn’t respond either, just sips his hot chocolate with a sad expression made somehow worse by the whipped cream that gets stuck on his lip. 

When Jaime finally take a sip of _his_ drink, he’s hit with the unmistakable bite of alcohol and he whips his head around stare at the counter. Ygritte gives him a shrug and a friendly wink. 

Jaime manages about forty-five minutes before he gives into the awkwardness and gathers everyone to head back home. Tommen stops on the street to pet a dog, and then again to try and pet a cat lying under a bush.

“I won’t hurt you,” Tommen whispers to the cat, so soft Jaime can hardly hear it. Tommen sounds like he’s about to cry. 

He still doesn’t say anything to Jaime the rest of the way home. Once there, Tommen retreats to his bedroom with a blanket and book, while Myrcella dramatically slams her door. Shortly after, Jaime hears the sound of computer games drifting out of her room. 

Jaime sits on the sofa, head in his hands. There’s nobody else who can take his kids – Tyrion is even less prepared than Jaime is, and nobody wants to give Tywin the chance to fuck up another generation. 

But Jaime has no idea how he’s going to do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ygritte genuinely does NOT want to sleep with Jaime. But there's rather a semi-secret, non-official support group of people with fucked up childhoods in Westeros. Ygritte's heard the gossip about what happened and she considers it a responsibility to reach out to the kids and to Jaime, even if she thinks he's a fancy jackass. 
> 
> Also, as much as Myrcella is a sweet person, she's a traumatized teenage girl, and it feels realistic that she's going to be angry and lash out. 
> 
> As you might guess this fic takes place sometime before Cats, which is the first in the Cats-Smile-Basket narrative thread.


	12. Nov 12: Rain (Girl Squad, Jaime/Brienne pre-relationship, Teen Pagan AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shireen and Brienne are supposed to collect rainwater for spells, but going out in a huge storm isn't the best idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences! Girl squad and a tiny bit of Jaime/Brienne pre-relationship. High school AU, same universe as Full Moon.

It’s raining, hard. The kind of storm that would be notable even back home in the Stormlands, thunder booming overhead and lightening flashing in the sky.

Brienne exchanges a look with Shireen. 

“Are you sure we can’t just put the bowl on the balcony?” Brienne asks.

Shireen shakes her head, clutching her sweater around her more tightly, as if it will help. 

“No,” she says. “Sansa was pretty firm. It has to be in the Weirwood.”

Brienne looks at the bowl in her hand, a beautiful one Shireen had lifted from her father’s ex-girlfriend’s things before Melisandre moved out. There’s swirls of red and gold in the glaze, and the rim of the bowl rises and dips like flames. 

Sansa insists she and Shireen should be tasked with gathering storm water for spells, because they are from the Stormlands and should have an affinity for that kind of magic. 

Brienne does admit there’s always been something magical about storms, the way the air crackles with power and everything surges with energy.

She’s even been known to go out in them and spin around in the rain, reveling in the possibility.

But not when they’re this bad. And not in November. 

Shireen’s at her father’s this weekend, and once Sansa called them with the forecast, Shireen invited Brienne to stay over and coaxed her father into letting them stay instead of going to her mother’s house. 

Neither of them thought it would work, but it turns out Brienne is one of the few friends Stannis approves of, so he’d said yes 

Now Brienne and Shireen are standing at the back door, looking out into the yard, which backs up to the edge of a forest separating the Baratheon house from the nearest neighbor.

The Weirwood grove is right in the middle of the woods, and they’re going to have to run across the lawn and through the trees to get the bowl where Sansa wants it to collect the stormwater. 

Brienne isn’t sure what’s worse, the idea of running through the empty yard, where they’ll be the tallest things (well, _Brienne_ will be the tallest thing) that lightening could strike or through a bunch of tall, lightening attracting trees. 

Lightening flashes in the sky, and Brienne starts counting under her breath until the roll of thunder sounds, deep into her bones.

Ten-Mississippi. 

The storm is getting closer. 

“We might as well go now,” Shireen says. “Before it gets worse.” 

She nods at Brienne, and Brienne gathers her courage and nods back. Shireen wrenches the door open, the blast of cold air and wind hitting Brienne like a wall.

They start running across the yard, Shireen holding the bowl and Brienne slowing her stride to let the shorter girl keep pace. The wind is whipping at their clothes, the rain is hitting her face like tiny shards of ice. Brienne suddenly regrets not wearing a coat, even though it would be soaked through too quickly to be any use.

Lightening illuminates everything again as they reach the edge of the woods, an Brienne fumbles for a flashlight. 

They have to slow down more then, dodging fallen branches and rough patches of dirt. Shireen leads the way, Brienne keeping track of the seconds between lightening and thunder. 

She’s so distracted, she almost slams into Shireen’s back, when they reach the Weirwood. 

“This is it,” Shireen shouts, over the sounds of howling wind and a rumble of thunder that makes Brienne’s teeth vibrate. 

“Where’s the Heart Tree?”

Shireen has to look a few minutes before finding it, and by the time they set the bowl down and chant a blessing to thank the wind and rain and storm for lending power, Brienne is shaking violently from the cold.

Shireen’s lips are starting to turn blue, and then another flash of lightening comes, thunder almost on to top of it, and Shireen shrieks. 

“Let’s go back!” Brienne shouts.

Shireen nods, then turns. Stops. Turns again. 

“What?” Brienne asks. Her clothes are plastered to her skin, hair dripping in her face. 

“I don’t know which way,” Shireen yells, over another round of lightening and thunder.

This time, Brienne hears a crack, not far away, the sound of lightening striking a tree. Shireen looks like she’s going to panic. Brienne shines her flashlight around, trying to see if something, anything, looks familiar.

“This way,” she decides, pointing towards some trees. 

They take off running again, faster, even though Shireen trips and Brienne has to haul her up from the mud. And Brienne stumbles and falls into a tree, bark scraping her face. She can feel blood running down her cheek but her bigger worry is that she thinks they should have been at the house by now, but they aren’t. 

Brienne almost sobs in relief when the trees and end and they’re in a flat yard, picking up speed, Brienne practically dragging Shireen as the thunder and lightening come almost simultaneously. 

She doesn’t notice that the house in front of them isn’t the Baratheons. Not until she runs into a tall, solid, warm, _human_ figure. Then Brienne screams, because nobody else should be around. 

Brienne is drawing her arm back, flashlight prepared to strike, when a strong hand grabs her wrist and yanks it away. 

“Hey,” a boy’s voice yells. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” Brienne yells.

“It’s _my_ house,” he shouts back, but then he’s pulling Brienne and Shireen towards it, more thunder and lightening coming, closer and closer together. 

Brienne is breathing heavily when they step inside, the blast of heat a relief against her skin because she just can’t stop shaking, she’s so cold, she’s going to be cold forever, and Shireen is crying next to her. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” the boy is asking. “It’s dangerous out there.”

Brienne swipes wet hair out of her eyes and looks up, about to respond, but the words die in her throat.

Standing in front of her is Jaime Lannister. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, this one is probably almost definitely becoming a thing eventually. After the holidays, most likely. 
> 
> But HEY, good news is, I'm two chapters away from being finished with the Jaime POV from the Nudistverse, so that will start coming soon, and be a bit multi-chapter off my plate. As well as a bunch of planned holiday things for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Can we say Miracle on 34th Street AU? 
> 
> Oh, and uh, I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/danceonworld)?


	13. Nov 13: Mittens (Sansa/Margaery, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa seems to have developed a habit of stopping by the yarn shop at least once a week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences, no warnings. Sansa/Margaery. Same universe as Tea, Basket, Cats, Soup, Smile, Mist, Cabin, and Hot Chocolate. All completely non-chronological.

Margaery is busy helping a customer wind yarn when Sansa slips into Rose Garden Yarn and Tea, so Sansa wanders over to a display of elaborate mittens on one table. 

Sansa seems to be developing a habit of stopping by the shop at least once a week, usually more. It’s definitely not good for her yarn budget, but the shop is so cozy. And Margaery always greets her with a smile and usually takes time to sit down and have some tea. 

Sansa sifts through the sample mittens for a bit before settling on her favorite couch and pulling Ravelry up on her iPad. She definitely has to add some of the mittens to her queue, and someone has thoughtfully noted the pattern names on the sample tag to make it easier. 

“New project?” Margaery asks. Sansa hasn’t even noticed her come over, but she’s bearing a tray with a pot of tea, two cups and a fresh lemon bar. 

Sansa can’t help the smile that spreads over her face as she scoots over to make room.

This couch may be her favorite because it’s only just big enough for two people, and Margaery is so close Sansa can feel the warmth radiating from her body. 

“I’m thinking of doing mittens for Christmas,” Sansa says. She adds a pair with guitars to her list. Robb would definitely like those. 

Margaery’s eyebrows go up as she pours tea. It smells like vanilla, the Victorian Fog blend that’s becoming Sansa’s favorite. “You don’t have much time,” she says.

“Oh!” Sansa laughs. “Not this Christmas – next year. I’m almost done with this year already, just three more hats.”

“You’re already thinking about next year?” Margaery looks impressed. “That’s hardcore.”

“Well, I have a lot of family.”

“Oh yeah?” Margaery tucks her feet up under her. It puts her closer to Sansa, her head almost resting on Sansa’s shoulder. 

“Well, I have three brothers and a sister,” Sansa starts. “My parents. Two cousins. Five aunts and uncles – well, 7 if my cousin Jon’s parents come back, and we never know until the last minute so I try to be prepared. My grandfather. And my brother Robb’s best friend, he’s basically family. And his sister. And Robb’s girlfriend. And Jon’s a cop, his partner’s family sucks, so he usually celebrates with us, too. And my sister’s boss, he doesn’t have family. Plus friends, my friend Jeyne and Brienne –”

Sansa realizes she’s rambling and snaps her mouth shut. Especially before she can add “and you.” But Margaery is just smiling. 

“That’s a lot of mittens,” Margaery says. “I thought my family was big, but you win.”

“Oh yeah?” Sansa asks.

“Well, I have three brothers,” Margaery says. “Plus my parents and my grandmother. But that’s it. And I definitely don’t knit for them, I’m not that good.”

“I’m sure you are,” Sansa says. 

“I’m really, really not,” Margaery says. “That’s Loras. But I’ve been playing around with dyeing. I really like working with color, I’m hoping to come up with my own yarns.”

“Oh, that would be amazing,” Sansa says. Margaery has the best since of style. She manages to look elegant and slightly sultry all the time, even in knitwear, and the way she pulls color together is gorgeous.

“And you knit for your friends too,” Margaery says. “You’ve known Jeyne and Brienne a while?”

“Oh, I grew up with Jeyne,” Sansa says. “She moved to Yi Ti, but we keep in touch. I just met Brienne a few months ago, but we’re definitely going to be good friends. I can tell.”

“How can you tell that?” Magaery laughs. “If you’ve only known her a few months.”

“I mean, you just can,” Sansa says. She looks at Margaery, the sparkle in her eyes and the way her dark hair falls on her shoulders in waves. “It’s like, a connection. You know? Something sparks.”

“Sounds like dating,” Margaery says. “Maybe you should go out with Brienne.”

Sansa erupts into giggles. 

“Oh god no,” she manages to get out. “Brienne is tragically straight. And honestly, she’s lovely but she has awful taste in men. She’s totally smitten with this rich jerk that came into the animal shelter, even if she won’t admit it. She would never.”

Plus, Sansa prefers petite brunettes to tall blondes, as much as she adores Brienne. 

“_Brienne_ is straight,” Margaery says. “Interesting.”

Sansa blushes and looks down. She wonders if she’s said too much. She doesn’t know if Margaery is queer or not, and it’s not like the haircut is a giveaway anymore, now that undercuts are so trendy. 

Sansa shoves a bite of lemon bar into her mouth, moaning a little at how good it tastes. She could just ask, but Sansa isn’t very good at being the one to make a move. 

Which is probably why she’s in her early 20s and hasn’t dated anyone. Or done much of anything beyond some tipsy making out with Asha. Which definitely confirmed Sansa’s thoughts about her attraction to pretty, brunette _women_. But there aren’t that many women in Westeros who aren’t straight, and they don’t usually hit on Sansa, probably because she looks pretty straight herself. 

Even Asha hadn’t expected her half-joking flirtation to go anywhere (though she was all too happy to continue when it did) and Asha is, like, the lesbian whisperer. 

“So,” Margaery says, before the silence gets too awkward. “What do you think then, Sansa? Are we going to be friends or something?”

The way she says something is a little loaded, and Margaery’s gaze is intense when Sansa glances over. 

“Or something,” she says, holding her breath. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holiday knitting is no joke, and nobody ever seems to start early enough. For an idea of the kids of mittens Sansa is looking at, [check this out](https://www.ravelry.com/people/quirkyknitgirl/queue?query=mittens). 
> 
> Brienne doesn't know it quite yet, but Sansa has basically looked at her and said, her. I like that one. She's going to be my new friend and honestly, Brienne is not getting a say in it. (See example: Soup ficlet.) And yes, Margaery is definitely fishing for info here.


	14. Nov 14: Hibernation (Brienne & Dany Friendship, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne doesn't know what to expect when she goes to a house call for Danaerys Targaryen's reptiles, but it's definitely not this.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING FOR SNAKES AND REPTILES.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Snakes, reptiles, and a brief mention of animal death (normal and non-violent). 
> 
> General audiences, Brienne and Danny friendship, Small Town Au. Same universe asTea, Basket, Cats, Soup, Smile, Mist, Cabin, Hot Chocolate, and Mittens. All completely non-chronological.

Brienne rarely makes house calls, since Asha usually handles their livestock clients, but she does enjoy getting a chance to see how her patient’s owners take care of them. Especially when it’s a good, standard home visit. Sadly, most of the time she makes it to client’s homes is to ease an animal out of it’s suffering. Brienne is always glad to be able to do that in a way that’s most comforting to a pet and owner but it’s the worst part of her job. 

Brienne also enjoys working with exotics. It’s not something there’s a huge call for, which is why she focused on general practice in vet school, but she tries to keep her skills up to date. So she was delighted to take the call from a woman looking for someone who could treat reptiles, while Asha shuddered and mumbled about crazy people.

Brienne initially expects to find a small turtle, maybe, or a corn snake nestled in a 20 gallon aquarium. (They really need to find a permanent receptionist, Theon is terrible at getting the details when Asha twists his ear and has him fill in.) When Brienne pulls up to a very large house, what could be described as a mansion, even, she mentally adjusts and imagines something like maybe a larger python. 

Danaerys Targaryen enters the door, smiling up at Brienne. She’s certainly a lot prettier than most of the reptile owners Brienne has met, who seem to tend to be reclusive sorts who wear an awful lot of safari gear for not being anywhere near a safari. Danaerys is petite and blonde, in stylish winter clothes and hair done in elaborate braids. 

“The habitats are back here,” Dany says. “I mostly want you to look at the slider, but it wouldn’t hurt to give you the tour.”

Brienne’s jaw about hits the floor. 

The room they walk into is amazing. Roughly two-thirds of the very large room is taken up by habitat for a leopard tortoise, which is happily munching on some greens and pumpkin. The room has clearly been renovated, and the enclosure has plenty of dirt, several hide boxes, and a variety of plants. It’s also plenty large for the tortoise, who seems to be one of the giant varieties Brienne has only seen in books.

There are other tanks too, all well over 100 gallon size, with exquisitely cared for habitats. Brienne sees the red-eared slider, which has nice, clear water and lots of platforms for the turtle to surface on. There’s also a large tank with geckos and another with skinks. 

“This is amazing,” she can’t help saying to Danaerys.

The climate control is good too. Brienne has to take off her flannel shirt and roll up the sleeves on her shirt, and she can also see the individual tanks have ways to adjust the temperature. 

“I’m planning to move the slider so he can brumate,” Danaerys says. “I know they don’t necessarily need it, but I try to replicate the natural habitat. I wanted to have you check him out first.”

“Sure,” Brienne says, and can’t help adding. “Can I see the leopard before I go?”

Danaerys laughs. She is, of course, one of those women who has laughter that sounds like bells chiming. 

“Of course,” she says. “And I’ll show you the rest of them.”

The _rest_ of them? 

The slider is fine, though reluctant to poke his head out of his shell when Brienne needs him to, which is not terribly surprising. Brienne chats with Danaerys as she works, expressing admiration for the habitats and the effort Danaerys goes through with pets that so many people consider gross or disposable. She also learns Danaerys is opening up a pet store in town, so people won’t have to drive to the next largest city, and hopes to talk with Brienne and Asha about their recommendations for stocking it 

“Reptiles and fish,” Danaerys says. “I can do. Cats and dogs are a mystery.” 

Brienne finishes up and deposits the slider back in his water (she wonders how Danaerys is planning to move the tank – Brienne is stronger than most women and it would take roughly three of her to handle something that large) and takes some time with the leopard tortoise. 

“A rescue,” Danaerys says, and Brienne hums her approval. “A professor got him when studying abroad and brought him back, oh, a few decades ago. Didn’t know they lived so long and his family wanted nothing to do with caring for him when the guy died.”

When Brienne stands up, Danaerys flashes her a brilliant grin. 

“Now for the real fun,” she says. 

If the first room is impressive, the second is out of this world. The first thing that catches Brienne’s eye is the giant enclosure for several green iguanas. It might actually have been an entire room of it’s own at one point, and there’s plenty of plants and vines for the animals to explore. The high ceilings of the house are ideal, giving the lizards horizontal space too.

Brienne is so distracted, she almost doesn’t notice the array of other tanks and then she’s choking in surprise.

“Is that a _cobra_?” Brienne sputters. 

“Perfectly legal,” Danaerys says, raising her hands. “I have all the permits and I’m a herpetologist. He can’t be released back into the wild, neither can the Mexican bearded so that’s why I have them.”

“If you’re a herpetologist, then why call me?” Brienne can’t help asking.

“I like getting a second opinion,” Danaerys says with a shrug. “Plus, I’m really more snakes and lizards, I haven’t dealt too much with turtles since undergrad.” 

“And why are you owning a pet store?” Brienne follows up, taking a closer look at the tanks. In addition to the two venomous creatures, there are several Savannah monitors, a Burmese python, a king snake, and a white corn snake. 

“Because academia is a curse on humanity and will kill your soul,” Danaerys says frankly. “I’d rather help people learn to take care of their pets properly.” 

Danaerys tells her about the reptiles, taking time to show Brienne around the cages and seeming happy to chat. Brienne holds the corn snake, who seems to be the friendliest, and lets him slither over her, little tongue flicking out over her skin in greeting. She learns the cobra is a rescue from a snake charmer who kept his snakes in terrible condition and the Mexican bearded was found with poachers. Both were far from their native lands and nobody was willing to try transporting them. Danaerys had been the only one in her department that would take them, not having children or other types of pets that would make keeping a venomous animal too dangerous. 

“But these are my babies,” Danaerys says, standing in front of the green iguana cage. “Drogon, Viseron, and Rhaegal. My first lizards, when I had just started college and didn’t know what to study.” 

“They’re lovely,” Brienne says. Danaerys beams.

After Brienne finishes scrubbing and sanitizing her hands and arms, and anywhere the corn snake managed to slither, Danaerys – oh, please, call me Dany – asks her for a cup of tea and they discuss getting together to talk about the pet store. Brienne learns that Dany has just returned to Westeros for the first time since childhood, and it’s nice to meet someone who hasn’t spent their entire life in the town. 

By the time she leaves, Brienne can’t help feeling like she might be making a new friend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dany is 100% the Crazy Lizard Lady. Also, realistically, recovered dangerous creatures would probably go to a zoo or official rescue, but for this fic, let's just pretend they were at capacity and Dany stepped in. Raising dangerous animals is generally not a good idea, guys! 
> 
> Also, people tend to treat fish, reptiles and amphibians (which Dany does not raise, because I have frog fear and nope) like disposable pets and they aren't. It's like people keeping beta fish in vases - they CAN survive, but you don't want them in anything that small for longer than it takes to clean a tank. They need at least a gallon of water and circulating air. 
> 
> That said, I do not own or know much about reptile and snakes, so if my research is wrong, it's totally my fault. Don't take anything I write as pet care advice, unless it's about cats. You can definitely take it about cats.


	15. Nov 15: Apple Pie (Gilly/Sam, Small Town AU, Jon POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bakery Sam points out is new, Jon knows. It can't hurt to stop inside and warm up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences. No warnings. Same universe as Tea, Basket, Cats, Soup, Smile, Mist, Cabin, Hot Chocolate, Mittens and Hibernation.

The nice thing about being police officer in Westeros is that it’s not too busy, not too stressful, not too dangerous. The bad thing about being a police officer in Westeros is that sometimes it’s incredibly boring. 

Jon and Sam have patrolled the downtown area several times. They’ve told off a handful of kids loitering outside Tyrell’s and convinced them to relocate farther down by Stolen Ink, because it’s not open and Davos wouldn’t care anyway. They’ve done a wellness check on Mance Rayder’s elderly neighbor, who turned out to be absolutely fine and not answering her phone because she’s too busy watching her stories, not lying on the ground with a broken hip as Mance feared. Jon hopes they’ll be off shift by the time Euron Greyjoy stars a fight at whatever establishment he decides to lurk at tonight. They’ll definitely be off by the time someone has to drag Greyjoy out of the bar and deposit him back home where he’s not a danger to others. 

But there’s plenty of time to kill. Jon is dreaming off things he could be doing, wondering what Aunt Cat is cooking for dinner. Everyone’s grown and mostly out of the house, but there’s still dinner on the table each night for whoever shows up. 

Sam slows down and Jon glares at him. 

“We can’t rest,” he says again. “That’s when we get cold.”

Sam’s newer to the force, and he hasn’t quite figured out that resting, while appealing, is a terrible idea from October until sometime in March. Unless you really like frostbite.

Jon does not really like frostbite.

“This is new, isn’t it?” Sam is looking at a storefront. Jon blinks. 

“Aye,” he says, taking in the bakery. 

Seven Sisters Sweets and Savories, the sign says. It looks like the kind of place Sansa would adore, because there’s nothing cute his cousin won’t latch onto like a koala. There are cheerful striped curtains in the window and several tables set up with those metal chairs with the curly backs. It’s all blue and yellow and the centerpiece is a big case full of breads and pastries. 

Jon’s surprised Sansa hasn’t mentioned it yet, though that probably has something to do with her fascination with the new yarn and tea shop, and her incredibly poorly disguised crush on the store’s employee. 

Aunt Cat just thinks she really likes yarn. 

It’s a little mean, but Jon finds it privately hilarious that all of Aunt Cat’s carefully planned, supportive ally talk and efforts have been directed at the entirely wrong children. Arya is as straight as they come, if she ever finds a man whose dick she doesn’t want to cut off for being an asshole, and Bran is secretly pining over his best friend’s sister, not the best friend like Aunt Cat thinks.

Meanwhile Sansa is mooning over half the pretty girls in town and Robb had a two or three year affair with his best friend right under Ned and Cat’s roof. Aunt Cat has no idea.

“We could go in,” Sam says. He’s gazing longingly at the counter, where several glass domes cover golden pies. 

“Sam, the cops and donuts thing is a joke,” Jon says. “And Selmy’s already on you to drop a few pounds.”

“I can go for a run later,” Sam says. “Nobody can blame us for warming up a bit, we’ve still got our radios.”

Jon sighs.

“We go to Wildling’s all the time,” Sam points out. “I don’t complain.”

Actually he does, but Jon really doesn’t want to start that argument again. 

“Fine,” Jon says. “Let’s go.”

The shop _is_ blessedly warm. It smells like sugar and vanilla and yeast, and Jon inhales deeply.

“Good afternoon,” a woman says. She’s behind the counter, long brown hair falling in messy waves. Jon thinks she looks familiar but he can’t quite place her. She has that kind of average, plain looking kind of face that could really belong to a lot of people.

“Hi,” Sam says, and his voice is ... off.

When Jon turns to look, Sam is staring at the woman behind the counter with a goofy grin on his face that Jon hasn’t seen before.

Maybe it wasn’t the pies he’d been looking at.

“What can I help you with?” the woman asks, wiping her hans on her apron. 

Sam is staring ahead blankly, and the woman looks like she’s becoming a bit unnerved.

“What’s your pie today?” Jon asks. After the baker runs through the listing, Jon settles on ordering an slice of apple in a rosemary crust and a slice of cranberry pear. 

“You just opened?” Jon asks, while the baker rings them up.’

“Last week,” she confirms. “We’ll have a grand opening at the end of the month.”

“I’m Jon,” Jon says. “Jon Snow. This is my partner, Sam.”

“I’m Gilly,” she says. She looks over at Sam and Jon notices a pink flush creep over her cheeks. “Hi Sam.”

“Oh!” Sam startles. “Hello, Sam. I mean, Gilly. Yes. I’m Sam. Hi.”

Jon cringes. 

“I’m sure we’ll be back,” he says to Gilly, as he drags Sam to a table. “We patrol this are a lot.”

“That would be lovely,” Gilly says, seeming to have not noticed Sam’s sudden inability to use the English language.

Jon takes a bite of the apple pie, then pauses. He steals a piece of Sam’s cranberry pear. The golden crust flakes perfectly against the fork and nearly melts in his mouth. The fruit is just the right balance between crisp and easy to eat. And the flavors are unique, but not so new that they take away from the familiar comforts of traditional pies.

They’ll definitely be back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [apple rosemary pie](https://www.thebakerchick.com/rosemary-apple-pie/) is on my list for Thanksgiving this year. The [cranberry pie](https://www.completelydelicious.com/cranberry-pear-pie/) is also nice, I've made it a few times. 
> 
> Sam is me around attractive people.


	16. Nov 16: Cuddle (Jaime/Brienne, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne has no intention of calling the annoying rich man about seeing Brenna. Until she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General Audiences. Some vague discussion of animal loss and not-so-great pet owners. (No detail, but it's a rough day for Dr. Brienne.) Same universe as Tea, Basket, Cats, Soup, Smile, Mist, Cabin, Hot Chocolate, Mittens, Hibernation, and Apple Pie.

Brienne has no intention of calling Jaime Lannister. She really doesn’t.

She’s not sure why he gave her his number and offered to let her visit Brenna. Pity, probably. And fine, it was nicer than she expected from someone like him. In Brienne’s experience rich, handsome men who clearly get anything they want don’t care much about others. 

So it was kind enough, and it _did_ make her feel better about sending Brenna and the kittens home with him. 

But she wasn’t going to call him.

Then she has one of the worst days she’s had in a long time. Brienne is used to bad days. It’s part of her job, and she’d known when she went to vet school that it wasn’t going to be all happiness and cuddles. She’s here to take care of animals when they’re sick or hurt and that isn’t happy. 

Still, it’s usually spread out. 

Then her day started with news a of an animal hoarding situation outside of town, an influx of dogs and cats (and, oddly, chickens) that the shelter can’t handle, many of whom were too sick or injured to be save. Then Brienne had left the shelter in Asha’s hands and gone to the clinic to be met with more sorrow and loss.

Some is unavoidable. Pets don’t live as long as people, they get sick, they get old and Brienne knows that. But while some of the cases fall into that category, she also has several of the kind she hates. The kind where an animal’s suffering could have been avoided with proper care, with an owner who gave a minimum of effort to keep a dog on a leash or a cat inside or stay up to date with preventative vaccines. 

And then the dog who has been exposed rabies also bites Brienne, so she has to head off to the health clinic and let Doc Luwin jab her with the first of four incredibly injections, leaving her arm sore and throbbing. 

So Brienne is sad, she’s tired, and she can’t stop thinking about Brenna and how close the sweet cat had come to losing out, just because people couldn’t be responsible owners. 

Before she knows it, Brienne is pulling up the phone and dialing Jaime Lannister (and honestly, who puts their own name in a phone as Most Handsome Cat Owner?) and asking if he meant it when he said she could visit.

Jaime clearly hasn’t expected her to call either, because he stumbles over his words and sounds shocked. But he refuses to let Brienne back out of asking, and it’s not long before she’s waiting in front of one of the nicer condo complexes in town. 

To Brienne’s surprise, Jaime meets her outside before she can ring the bell. 

“My brother has the cats,” he explains as he types a code to let them in. “Until Christmas morning.” 

Right, they’re a gift. Brienne still isn’t sure that’s wise. She doesn’t get a chance to say it, though, because they walk in and Brienne has the brief, disorienting sensation of becoming a giant. Or feeling like one. 

The furniture in the condo seems smaller than usual, much, and everything is just off, slightly, in a way Brienne can’t put a finger on.

At least not until a man walks out of one of the back rooms and Brienne sees he’s a dwarf. Or little person, she supposes, is the accurate statement. 

That would explain why the furnishings make Brienne feel even bigger than usual. 

“You must be Brienne,” the man says, holding a hand out. “Tyrion, the smarter Lannister.” 

He has mismatched eyes and he’s nowhere near as handsome as Jaime, but there’s something about Tyrion that makes Brienne feel a little more at ease as she greets him. 

The cats are being held in a back bedroom, to save Tyrion’s furniture from fur and claws. (”It’s not exactly easy to find,” he says. “Jaime’s far less particular.”)

Jaime mumbles something under his breath, but Brienne doesn’t hear it, because they’ve reached the bedroom and Brenna is curled up on the bed (normal size, Brienne notes, possibly larger than typical) in a sunbeam.

Brienne rushes over to the cat, stroking gently as Brenna wakes up and regards Brienne for a few seconds before starting to purr. There’s a startled noise of surprise from Tyrion – “she doesn’t do that for _me_” – and then Brenna is crawling into Brienne’s lap. Brienne pays no attention to the room, just holding the sweet cat and whispering into her fur how glad Brienne is that she found a home, even if it is with an insufferably wealthy, arrogantly pretty man, how lucky Brenna is to live in such a nice place, how happy and spoiled she looks now. 

When Brienne feels more even-keeled, she finally looks up. Tyrion has slipped out at some point, but Brienne is alarmed to find Jaime is still there, idly waving a feather wand around for the kittens to pounce. They’re bigger, alert and healthy, happily chasing the toy and climbing all over Jaime. 

“Sorry,” Brienne says, blush rising in her face. 

“I told you to call,” Jaime says. He offers a crooked smile. “I didn’t think you’d do it though.”

“I didn’t either,” Brienne admits. “It’s been a long day.”

“Working at an animal shelter must be hard,” Jaime says. “I looked it up, after, how many animals wind up there.”

“And the clinic,” Brienne adds. “Most people are great owners, but some ...”

“Clinic?” 

“I’m a vet,” Brienne says, realizing she never mentioned that. “Asha – Dr. Greyjoy and I took over when the Manderlys retired.”

Something in Jaime’s face shifts.

“The mysterious Dr. Tarth,” he says. “I wondered.”

Brienne tilts her head, so confused she forgets to pet Brenna. Brenna chirps a protest. 

“I handled the loan application,” Jaime explains.

Jaime _Lannister_. Lannister Bank. Wealthy. The pieces suddenly slot together in Brienne’s mind. 

Jaime tosses the feather toy down and the kittens rush on it. He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, closer to Brienne. This near to him, Brienne can see flecks of silver starting to form in his golden hair and beard, the way his green eyes have several shades of emerald and jade.

“She’s not this cuddly with me or Tyrion,” Jaime says, looking down at Brenna. He reaches over to pet her as well, his fingers brushing lightly against Brienne’s.

Brienne tries to ignore the tingling sensation she gets when his hand touches her skin. 

“It takes time,” she says, hoping the increasing redness in her face isn’t too obvious. “She’s had it rough, she doesn’t know who to trust.”

“Staying here probably doesn’t help,” Jaime says. “But I want to surprise Tommen, so Tyrion’s watching them until Christmas. I know he’d love them just as much now but he’s had it rough and I just want it to be special for him.”

“Your nephew,” Brienne remembers. 

“Tommen Baratheon,” Jaime confirms. “I know a cat isn’t much consolation for having your mother and brother murder your father but ...”

He shrugs helplessly.

“You think she did it, then?” Brienne has heard the story. Everyone in town has. Varys is having a field day at The Weekly Spyder. 

“My sister? Absolutely.” Jaime shakes his head. “The younger kids, they’re not. They haven’t had it easy. So anything I can do.”

It’s a far different story than Brienne would have expected to hear when Jaime walked into the shelter, looking around like he was entitled to anything he wanted from the dingy building. 

Brenna is delighted to have two people petting her, stretching out on Brienne’s lap to better receive her adoration. It’s oddly peaceful, considering Brienne is in a strange house with a man she doesn’t know. 

But Brienne has responsibilities, and her own cats to take care of, so she can’t stay in this odd cocoon of warmth for long. 

“I’ve taken up too much of your time already,” Brienne says. Brenna gives a cranky meow when she’s nudged of Brienne’s lap and back onto the bed. Brienne waves goodbye at Tyrion, who is busy clattering around in the kitchen, and Jaime walks her to the door. 

“Would a hug help?” Jaime asks suddenly, as Brienne finishes buttoning her coat. 

“What?”

Jaime looks a little sheepish. “I hear they’re good for when you’re having a bad day.”

The way he says it is odd, like hugs aren’t a familiar concept. Brienne is opening her mouth to say no, because hugs _do_ help but she doesn’t know Jaime, if she wants a hug she’ll go see her father or maybe even Sansa, but not a strange man. 

Except somehow no comes out as yes. 

Jaime is just a tiny bit shorter than Brienne and his arms wrap around her easily, Brienne awkwardly bringing hers around his waist. Jaime’s face is next to her own, his breath warm against her ear, ruffling her hair slightly. He smells like sandalwood and pine, his body a firm line of muscle against Brienne’s own.

They stay like that a few moments, longer than Brienne thinks they should, for two strangers, before Jaime releases her and takes a step back.

“You should come see Brenna again,” he says. “Call anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brenna is becoming more popular than I expected!! So, a reminder that none of the storylines are or will be complete in this prompt exercise. I'll likely continue this for advent prompts (exactly prompt source TBD) and will eventually make it a real fic. But for now, it's snippets.
> 
> I assume in a modern world, Tyrion would have more access to things made especially for people with dwarfism, including being able to furnish a home that is comfortable for him, though with some things that do double duty to be usable by average people as well. And some for tall ones, since he IS Jaime's brother. I mean, even at 5'2" I desperately wish I could lower my kitchen counters. 
> 
> Also, yes, Jaime is Trying To Human and also like WHY AM I SO INTRIGUED BY THIS ANIMAL SHELTER LADY? He'll figure it out. Eventually.


	17. Nov 17: Starry Knight (Brienne-centric, light Jaime/Brienne, Teen Pagan AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne isn't sure how she feels about the idea of past lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audience, no warning. Same universe as Full Moon and Rain. 
> 
> Shorter today, because I am trying to introduce a kitten to the family and it's ... proving more challenging than expected for older kitten.

At least half the girls are asleep when Talisa brings it up. 

“Have you ever done past life regressions?” she asks.

Brienne hasn’t even heard of them. But Ygritte and Arya shake their heads too, so she doesn’t feel too bad. 

Meera hums a few bars of a song. “How long ‘til my soul gets it right,” she sings. 

“It’s supposed to help you understand if you’ve carried any traumas or something from previous incarnations,” Talisa explains.

“I think I have enough trauma from this one,” Brienne mumbles.

Arya wrinkles her nose. “How do you do it?”

“It’s like hypnotism? Sort of? I did one on my cousin once,” Talisa says. “I could do it for you.”

“I don’t know,” Arya says. “Hypnotism is weird.”

Ygritte nods her agreement.

Then suddenly everyone is looking at Brienne. 

“Please,” Talisa says, and it’s so polite and kind that Brienne can’t really say no. 

Brienne mostly remembers Talisa settling in front of her with a crystal on a length of ribbon, talking in a soothing voice. Then she’s back to the room, heart racing and breath coming in gasps.

Brienne can’t tell how much time has passed, but Ygritte has fallen alseep and Meera is almost there. Arya is looking on, an utterly fascinated look on her face. 

“What?” Brienne asks. 

“You were a knight,” Arya says. 

“There’s only one female knight,” Brienne says. “I can’t be her.”

“You are named after her,” Talisa says. “And yeah, everyone wants to be Duncan the Tall or whatever, but you just. I don’t know, you _feel_ like you could really be her.

“You were on a quest,” Arya says. “A real quest, with a sword and armor.”

Brienne doesn’t remember saying any of this.

“You were sad though,” Talisa says. “Someone you loved, you left him behind. You were worried.”

Arya makes a dismissive noise.

“You were in a fight,” she says. Her eyes are shining. “You said you’d been beaten bloody, but you won, you killed the man.”

Brienne doesn’t know how to feel about that. She’s always wanted to be a hero, like a knight in the histories, but she doesn’t like the idea of killing anyone. 

“I wonder if you got to be together,” Talisa says thoughtfully. “Your love. Maybe that’s what this incarnation is about for you.”

“I don’t need love,” Brienne protests.

“But you do,” Talisa says. “Your aura, it’s just – it’s all around you, that’s what you need.”

Brienne must look horrified because Talisa hurries up and continues talking.

“I mean, it’s not obvious to just anyone,” she says. “I’ve always been able to read auras, Alys too. And yours is just ... it’s like you’re waiting for a great love.”

That’s even more absurd than the idea of Brienne being the famous Lady Ser of old Westeros. 

But when she falls asleep, she dreams of swords and fighting, of blue-tinted armor, a sword with rubies, and sleeping under the stars, hand entwined with a man next to her that she somehow knows she loves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meera is of course singing Galileo by the Indigo Girls.


	18. Nov 17: Scarf (Sansa and Brienne friendship, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa thinks Brienne needs a relaxing hobby. Mostly friendship, but a dash of Sansa/Margaery and a bit of reference to future Jaime/Brienne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audience. Small town AU. This one takes place a bit after Tea, and very shortly after Cats and Mittens. It is quite some ways before Smile.

Sansa is gathering her things the front desk of the shelter while Brienne flips through some adoption forms when the younger girl suddenly stops and turns.

“Come with me,” she says.

Brienne tries to remember where Sansa said she was going, and why on earth the girl would want her to come.

“To the yarn shop,” Sansa continues. 

“I don’t knit,” Brienne says. She makes a note on one of the forms, regarding the possibility of issues with the adopter’s existing pets. They don’t usually accept animals being returned without penalty, but this is a case where they may need to. 

“You should learn!” Sansa says brightly. “I can show you, it’s very relaxing.”

Brienne has never been good at what her great-aunt termed the womanly arts, and she doubts knitting will be any different. Besides, Brienne is already a stereotype of a single woman over thirty, what with having five cats and virtually no life outside of work. Adding knitting to that just seems like the icing on the cake. 

But Sansa is already packing up the things on Brienne’s desk and holding Brienne’s coat out. 

“And you can meet Margaery,” Sansa says, with a small, dreamy smile. 

Brienne doesn’t think she’s going to be able to win this argument.

The store is as cute as Sansa has described, possibly cuter. Brienne hangs her coat on the rack by the door and takes a look around. She has to admire the colorful displays, piles of yarn in bright and rich colors are all over, as well as samples of knitted items. They range from plain but soft scarves and hats to sweaters that Brienne thinks couldn’t possibly be made by hand, with intricately colored designs.

Sansa is making a beeline for the back of the shop, where she exchanges a slightly too long hug with the young brunette woman working. Brienne assumes it’s Margaery, considering the way they are both smiling besottedly at each other.

Brienne notices that Sansa grabs Margaery’s hand to pull her over and doesn’t let go.

“This is Brienne,” Sansa says. “My friend, Brienne this is Margaery.”

Brienne startles a little. Are they friends? She enjoys talking to Sansa when Sansa comes to volunteer but is that friendship? She doesn’t really know anything about the woman, only that she works at her parent’s department store, volunteers at the shelter, knits, and has a huge crush on the woman from the yarn store.

Margaery is smiling sweetly, though, holding out a hand to shake.

“Sansa has told me about you!” Margaery exclaims. I’m so glad you came in.”

“Brienne is going to learn to knit,” Sansa announces. Either forgetting or ignoring the part where Brienne hasn’t agreed to that.

Margaery seems to think it’s a great idea, though, and Sansa insists on having Brienne pick out yarn to learn. As far as Brienne’s concerned, she can work with whatever Sansa choses, but apparently it’s important for Brienne to pick the yarn. After touching it and comparing colors.

Eventually Brienne settles, with Sansa’s approval, on some soft blue yarn. It’s the right weight, according to Sansa, not too big or small and she grabs a pair of needles as well. Brienne wasn’t aware yarn has weights, but nods obligingly.

“You can make a scarf,” Sansa decides. “They’re easy, and it’s lots of practice.”

Sansa, Brienne is learning, is like a deceptively delicate hurricane.

They settle on the sofa, Sansa doing something with the yarn to get it onto the needle, fingers moving lightning fast, while Margaery comes over with a tray full of tea and lemon squares. 

“Sansa’s favorite,” Margaery says, handing Brienne a lemon bar.

“Now, I’ve cast on for you,” Sansa says. “Because it’ll be easier to learn once you know the knit stitch.”

There’s not enough room on the sofa for three, not really, but Sansa and Margaery seem to be really enjoying having to squish together. Margaery casually drapes her arm on the back behind Sansa and toys with Sansa’s red hair occasionally, in a move that is so easy Brienne feels envious.

Not that Brienne wants to flirt with Sansa, but she could never imagine being so casually affectionate with anyone.

Brienne is struggling with her first row of stitches, fingers feeling huge and ungainly (something Sansa assures her is normal for new knitters, not a result of Brienne’s mannish hands) when Sansa looks over slyly.

“So, let’s talk about your crush on the cute, rich cat guy.”

Brienne sputters.

“I do not have – Sansa, what are you talking about!”

“You’ve been ranting about him for days,” Sansa says.

“Because he’s arrogant, and he thinks he can get what he wants because he’s rich,” Brienne says, feeling the familiar feeling tightening in her stomach. Something about the man - Jaime Lannister, she recalls from the paperwork – sets her on edge. 

“And handsome,” Sansa says. “You keep mentioning his smile being used to get things.”

“He’s objectively good-looking,” Brienne says. “Men like that know it, and know they can get what they want, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Margaery looks intrigued. “Who’s this?”

Sansa explains the situation, the visit from the man with his terrible idea to give cats to a child and Margaery nods.

“Oh, Jaime,” she says. “Well, he’s one of the better ones. And he’s taking in Cersei’s kids, so he’s probably a little overwhelmed.”

“That’s Cersei’s brother?” Sansa askses, sounding amazed.

“It doesn’t matter if he’s better,” Brienne says. “Although I hope that means the cats will be okay.”

She scowls at the yarn in her hand, aggressively shoving a needle tip through the loop of blue on her left needle. 

“Cersei is awful,” Sansa says. “God, that woman. But if Jaime’s taking those kids, it’s no wonder he wants to get them kittens. Probably the first soft and cuddly thing they’ve owned.”

“You could do worse than going out with Jaime,” Margaery says. 

“I do not want to go out with Jaime,” Brienne says firmly. As if that were even a possibility. Brienne knows how she looks. She knows how Jaime looks. She has eyes.

“Okay,” Sansa says, returning her focus to her own project, which is knit with what appears to be thread on needles the size of toothpicks. “When does he pick the cats up, again?”

“December 16th,” Brienne says automatically, and ignores the smirk on Sansa’s face as she realizes Brienne has the date on the tip of her tongue.

It’s all irrelevant, anyway. Jaime Lannister will pick up his cats and Brienne will never see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EVERYONE SHOULD KNIT. Don't buy the stereotype, Brienne.


	19. Nov 19: Mountain (Brienne and Meera friendship, Teen Pagan AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meera invites Brienne for a hike in the mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences. 90s teen pagan AU, same universe as full moon, rain, and starry knight.

Meera invites Brienne over for a hike one Sunday, and Brienne almost says no. But spending time with Dany went surprisingly well so Brienne says yes. She can’t always have Sansa or Margaery with her when she’s around people, and Brienne _did_ promise perfect love and perfect trust.

The Reed’s house is out a dirt road with few neighbors, at the foot of a mountain. Brienne’s dad is taken with it and spends a while chatting with Meera’s dad about the area when he drops Brienne off.

It’s beautiful out, the leaves turning, and the air crisp. They hike in silence for a while, but it doesn’t seem too uncomfortable. Meera doesn’t talk a lot, Brienne has noticed.

“I love it out here,” Meera says, as they stop to gather some acorns. Acorns seem like a useful thing to have on hand for magic. 

“It’s beautiful,” Brienne agrees.

“And quiet.” Meera is gathering some fallen twigs, holding them up to compare to each other. “I like to come out here with Jojen. He’s calmer.”

Brienne has only met Meera’s brother once, at the Stark’s and she makes a non-commital noise. 

“Did you do a lot of hiking on Tarth?” Meera asks.

“Yeah, we had a great trail that went through the mountains and around the beach. I loved the section near our house.” Brienne smiles at the memory. “And nobody else used it, much. Some adults and tourists, but nobody from school.”

“That’s why I like bringing Jojen out,” Meera says. “He’s not – he’s not the same as other kids.” 

Brienne is distracted by a large clump of mushrooms growing at a tree. It’s beautiful, and she points it out to Meera, who’s eyes get wide.

“Hen of the woods,” Meera says. “Those are edible, we should take it.”

Meera’s backpack is full of useful things, apparently, and she pulls out a small half-moon shaped knife. They spend a bit of time adjusting things, Meera taking the heavier water bottle and first aid kit from Brienne’s pack and putting in hers, then storing the things they’re collecting in Brienne’s bag so they won’t get crushed.

“How’d you know all this?” Brienne is helping Meera pull red berries off a Hawthorne tree, carefully placing them in a small bag Meera produces. 

“My dad. He’s big into finding what you can from the land.” Meera moves to cut some thorns of the tree as well, large sharp things that are as long as Brienne’s finger. 

“Don’t tell my dad that, we’ll never get them apart.” Brienne can imagine her father’s delight. Her dad knows the sea, but these northern mountains are new.

“I heard you did well in the hockey game,” Meera says later. They’re gingerly picking chestnuts up from the forest floor, trying to avoid being pricked by the outer shells.

“I did okay.”

“Amazing, apparently.” Meera looks over speculatively. “Lannister wouldn’t shut up about it at practice.”

Brienne can feel herself turning red. 

“He’s weird.” That seems like a safe thing to say.

“Yeah.” Meera is poking at a clump of what seem to be weeds, cutting a few off with her small knife. “He doesn’t have a lot of friends.”

Brienne must look confused, because Meera laughs a little.

“Cersei has friends,” Meera says. “Everyone thinks they’re Jaime’s too, but they aren’t. Really. I mean, he hangs with Addam but he’s not ... I don’t know. I kind of feel bad for him.”

Feeling bad for _Jaime Lannister _is something Brienne has never even considered. He’s beautiful, he’s popular, he’s athletic, he’s got _everything_.

“You think he’s trying to be my friend?” 

“I think he likes you,” Meera says. Brienne startles with surprise, grabbing a chestnut and squeezing so hard all the spines dig into her palm.

“That’s impossible.” 

Meera pries Brienne’s hand open and starts cleaning it with a cloth she’s produced. 

“Would it be that awful?” Meera looks like she’s considering it, the idea that Brienne would be the one opposed to someone like Jaime. 

“It’s just not possible,” Brienne says. There are some things she just can’t let herself think. 

Even with everyone who thinks the love spell will work, the idea of anyone, let alone someone like Jaime or Renly, falling for Brienne is absurd. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meera plays lacrosse with Jaime. Jaime has figured out Meera knows Brienne and is friendlier with her suddenly. Not that he was unfriendly before, but yeah. 
> 
> They are collecting edible plants, as well as things for spellwork. Hawthorn thorns are excellent for warding, just don't prick yourself. Put them on windowsills. 
> 
> Brienne, at this point, is still crushing on Renly pretty hard but she's also noticing Jaime and trying desperately not to, considering him even more out of reach than Renly.


	20. Nov 20: Leaves (Shireen/Rickon, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brynden Tully is supposed to help lead Shireen's class on a field trip. She is not prepared for who he sends instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences. No warnings. Part of the small town AU verse, which I don't have time to link here, but are all stated in the chapter headings.

“Okay class, everyone hold hands,” Shireen says, looking along the line of five-and-six-year-olds. “Do you all have someone’s hand?”

“Yes, Miss Shireen,” they chorus. 

Shireen considers that maybe taking kindergarten and first graders on a field trip was not her best idea, but a few mothers have agreed to help out and it’s too late anyway.

Now that they’re at the edge of the woods, all they need is their guide. Shireen checks her watch again.

Brynden Tully isn’t one to be late and Shireen has a moment of panic that she got the date wrong, or something like that. Something utterly humiliating for the first year of having her own class. 

Then a beat up old car pulls up, rattles to a stop, and a guy who must be a couple of years younger than Shireen slouches out and looks up. He’s good-looking, but he’s also covered in tattoos and has floppy hair and ... is he wearing eyeliner?

Shireen smooths down the front of her cardigan and brushes her hands on her skirt. She’s not ashamed of how she looks or dresses, but she’s an elementary school teacher and she _looks_ like an elementary school teacher. When she sees people like this guy, she always feels a little inadequate, a little pathetic for liking pretty dresses and sweaters in pastel colors, for her pink coat and coordinating hat and mittens.

The guy looks over.

“Shireen Baratheon?” He says. Shireen startles.

“Yes,” she answers, hurrying over to the car. 

“Brynden’s sick,” the man says. “He sent me to do ... whatever.”

Shireen feels a little faint. One of the classroom mothers is already clutching the hand of the nearest child, glaring daggers. 

“Okay ...” Shireen trails off, realizing she doesn’t know his name.

“Rickon Stark.” Apparently he’s just realized that as well. “So what’s the deal?”

“This is our fall class field trip,” Shireen says brightly. “We go on a short nature walk and Brynden teaches the kids about different kinds of trees and they collect leaves to press when we get back to school.”

Rickon looks over. 

“Fuck,” he says. 

“If you could maybe not say that where they can hear,” Shireen says. Although she’s almost certain they’re close enough that someone did. Aegon looks very interested, which is never a good sign. 

Rickon sighs. 

‘Trees,” he says.

“Trees,” Shireen confirms.

It goes ... less badly than Shireen expects. Which is a pretty low bar, honestly. Rickon pulls a leather jacket out and slings it on over his tee shirt (and how he’s not freezing, Shireen has no idea) which at least covers the tattoos. It also has the unfortunate side effect of making Shireen’s knees feel a little weak.

The kids have their paper bags and Rickon dutifully points out different types of trees and, with Shireen’s prompting, explains how the leaves and bark or nuts/flowers/cones can help them know which it is. 

Rickon isn’t exactly good with kids, but he does know what he’s talking about. And when the kids jump or shout, he doesn’t yell or get mad, he just grins and answers them. He only curses a handful of times. The kids pick up lots of leaves, showing them off to each other and the adults before putting them in their bags. 

Then little Rhaella suggests they see who can climb the highest in a tree and before Shireen can shut the idea down, Rickon is agreeing and pointing them to a large maple with conveniently low branches that he starts scaling himself. 

In no time flat, there are 10 children and one Rickon perched in a tree, giggling and declaring themselves the best. One of the mothers looks like she’s having heart palpitations already, and the other is mumbling under her breath. Shireen wonders if she’s updated her resume lately. 

Still, it’s adorable, and she has to sneak a picture with her phone. Dunk, who has stayed down, tugs at her hand. 

“It’s silly,” Dunk says. He’s a very serious child. Too serious, sometimes.

“Being silly can be fun,” Shireen says. 

“My dad says it isn’t dignified,” Dunk says.

Dunk’s dad makes Shireen’s dad look like a relaxed hippie, and that’s saying something. 

“Why don’t you give it a try,” Shireen says. She leads him forward, stopping to look at Jory. He can’t climb, not with the braces he needs to stand. 

“Why don’t you climb?” one of the kids shouts.

“I’m not good at climbing,” Shireen answers. “Jory and I can watch.”

A few of the kids protest, and then they start being sad about Jory not being able to climb. It’s a near revolt, and Shireen is pretty sure one of the mothers is trying to make a cell phone call, probably to try to get Shireen fired. 

“Just because Jory can’t climb, doesn’t mean he can’t join us,” Rickon says, and jumps, JUMPS off the branch he’s sitting on. He lands lightly next to Shireen, who can’t help but gasp. 

It’s a terrible idea, but Rickon is gentle as he puts Jory on a low branch, right next to the trunk, quietly instructing him to hold onto it. 

It probably shouldn’t make Shireen find Rickon more attractive, but it absolutely does. 

She really needs to get it together.

“Now it’s your turn,” Rickon says and Shireen takes a step back. 

“Oh no. I’m wearing a skirt, I can’t climb a tree.” She holds her hands up to ward him off.

“Yeah, stupid choice for going to the woods, by the way,” Rickon says. He steps closer, putting his hands on Shireen’s waist.

Shireen feels her breath catch in her throat and prays he doesn’t notice.

The kids are cheering and shouting encouragement. 

“Come on,” Rickon says. “You can’t disappoint your class, can you?”

He doesn’t give Shireen a chance to object, and he’s picking her up like she weighs nothing, which Shireen absolutely files away to think about later, and setting her on a higher branch than Jory, before scrambling up next to each other. The kids clap. 

Shireen is definitely getting fired after this.

It’s probably worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shireen's wardrobe is basically Mary Margaret Blanchard from Once Upon A Time. They'll press the leaves in wax paper when they get back to save them and decorate for Thanksgiving, as one does in grade school. 
> 
> Field trips like this do actually exist, and it's a pretty cool idea IMO. 
> 
> Oh, and guyliner needs to come back, I will not be hearing disagreement at this time.


	21. Nov 21: Shadow (Brienne-centric, Teen Pagan AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne wakes up screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences. 90s teen pagan AU. Immediately follows Starry Knight.

Brienne has trouble falling asleep after Talisa’s past-life session. Arya has finally passed out, the last before Brienne to do so, snoring quietly in her sleeping bag.

Talisa seems totally sincere and like she believes what she told Brienne.

But it just seems so cruel of the Universe, if Talisa is correct.

If Brienne is meant for love, if she’s a descendent of the Blue Knight, why would it make her look like _this_?

Nobody knows what the Blue Knight looks like, no portraits were ever painted of her. But she was called Brienne the Beauty, so she must have been stunning. 

Oh, the famous knight was tall and strong, Brienne knows they have that in common. But she must have had a face far better than Brienne’s own, flowing hair or a more delicate build. Like Arya, who is fiercely strong, but doesn’t look it to see her.

And love.

If _great love_ is Brienne’s destiny or her path or whatever, how in the world is she supposed to find it looking like she does? Brienne supposes she could always get plastic surgery or something but the idea scares her. Even on her nose, where the doctor has suggested it would be wise, if only to fix her deviated septum, Brienne isn’t sure. Even after her dad had the same surgery, which not only left him with a straighter nose, but meant he didn’t sound like he was struggling to breathe at night. 

When Brienne finally drifts off to sleep, it takes her a few moments to realize she’s dreaming.

She has to be dreaming, because she’s walking down the hallways of Winterfell High wearing armor and carrying a sword with a gold lion’s head on the pommel. People are streaming past her, laughing and talking but there’s a sound of distant fighting.

Not regular fighting, but battle fighting, the clang of sword and sound of hoofbeats.

Then at the end of the hall, Brienne sees Renly. He’s wearing a gold shirt, the one she’s seen him in before that should look tacky but doesn’t, and he’s holding a rose and smiling.

Brienne’s breath catches and she walks closer, but then she realizes Renly is looking past her, at someone else, though she can’t see who it is. Not even when she turns around.

Brienne feels like her heart is ripping out of her chest, and she wants to run away but the battle noises are coming closer and Renly’s eyes get big.

So Brienne stands in front of him, gripping the sword and watching. 

It _sounds_ like the battle is right on top of them, but Brienne can’t see anything like it, just students in the hall as usual, even though she hears the sounds of horses screaming and men groaning with pain before they die.

She looks and looks and there’s _nothing_, but she’s taken her eyes off Renly for a few seconds and when she looks back, Renly is gasping, blood seeping through his shirt.

Nobody’s there, not in the hall, but on the wall Brienne sees the shadow of someone, stabbing Renly’s shadow through with a sword and she screams, louder and louder.

Only nobody is stopping, nobody is even _noticing_. Not even Sansa, walking down the hall with Margaery, giggling, or Shireen, who’s standing at her locker looking into the distance. 

Until suddenly someone _is_ there, it’s Jaime Lannister and his hair is golden around his head like a lion’s mane, like the sword, and he’s grabbing Brienne by the arm to pull her away but Brienne can’t stop screaming –

And the Brienne feels hands grabbing her arms harder, then a slap against her face and blinks her eyes open.

Ygritte is kneeling in front of her, red hair flying around her face where it’s escaped from her braid. 

They’re at Talisa’s. The room is full of brightly colored sleeping bags and everyone is awake now, except Gilly, blinking blearily at Brienne. 

“You were screaming,” Margaery says. She sounds shaken.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” Missandei adds. She adjusts the scarf wrapped around her hair. “Just kept screaming.”

Even Arya and Lyanna look upset.

“Bad dream,” Brienne says. 

“What was it about?” Sansa is worried, Brienne can tell.

“Nothing,” Brienne lies.

She can try to figure it out later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of Brienne the Beauty comes from the weirdness of what survives history and doesn't - it morphs from mocking into a true name. A bit like we think of Cleopatra as far more beautiful than she was, because of assumptions and ideas we put on the past. 
> 
> Was this a real reincarnation dream? A mix of Talisa's hypnosis with general bits of Brienne's life? Who knows, that's for you to decide on your own.


	22. Nov 22: Tent (Jaime/Addam/Brienne, explicit, canon-era)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne knows what the sound she's hearing is, when she wakes in the dead of night. She just didn't expect to be hearing it from the two men next to her.
> 
> Look, it's 1,800-ish words of threesome smuttiness, you know if that's your jam or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit. Canon era, canon divergence, I guess?

Brienne’s been in army camps a long time. She knows, when she wakes in the middle of the night, what the sound she’s hearing means. The soft slide of flesh on flesh, stifled gasps and heavier breathing. 

Men have often taken themselves in hand while bunking down near Brienne. At first, to shock her. Later, because they forgot (or no longer cared) that she was not a man. 

That, however, was when Brienne was bunking down in camps with hundreds of foot soldiers, men crammed together under the sky.

Not in a tent she shares with only two men. Two men who are so close to her that she can feel the heat from Jaime’s body. 

The road north grows colder by the day, and any pretense of privacy has been abandoned in favor of warmth. That Brienne bunks with the commander of the Lannister armies and his right-hand man has been noticed, but is no longer considered remarkable. The whispers of Kingslayer’s whore still follow her, a laughable name when applied to the Maid of Tarth, who will certainly live and die a maid, but her sleeping here has been mostly ignored. Probably because there is no man sleeping alone, and of all the men in this camp, Addam and Jaime are two of the safest she could bunk with. They will not try to violate her. 

Brienne has not considered this, it has not even occurred to her that this might be something that happens. She understands that men have needs, that men do this kind of thing but for some reason she has not connected the idea to the particular men in this tent.

It’s too dark to see much beyond shadowy outlines, but images assault Brienne’s mind, the slight movements rustling the furs next to her and making Brienen’s stomach twist. Jaime’s face slack with pleasure, the muscles in his forearm tensing as he strokes himself. Addam’s copper hair spread out under his head, the muscles of his bare chest.

Addam is not quite so beautiful as Jaime, but he is pleasing in his own way, burnished copper to Jaime’s shining gold. 

Brienne shivers, listening to the smooth sounds of damp flesh and then something else catches her ear. A gasp, a small moan, and then the sound of wet flesh together muffling it. Kissing, Brienne thinks, and it startles her so much that she sits up without thinking, looking over.

Jaime and Addam break apart, but don’t move facing each other, heads close on the pillows.

“I”m so sorry,” Brienne says, mortified, and covers her face with her hands. She falls back onto the furs, then starts up again. “I’ll leave, I’ll go –”

“Brienne, wait –” Jaime reaches out to catch her wrist. 

Brienne stares down at his hand, unable to stop thinking about where it was only moments before. Jaime’s fingers are slightly sticky and the reason why sends a shiver along Brienne’s spine. 

“I’m sorry,” Addam says. “To do this so close to you was not honorable.”

“We thought you were sleeping,” Jaime says.

Brienne should leave, she should gather her things and find Podrick, Podrick is safe to sleep near, perhaps he will be with other squires, untrained men Brienne could easily best if she had to. 

“Brienne,” Jaime says again, his voice deep and raspy.

“But you – Cersei,” Brienne says, forgetting the has no idea if Addam knows. “You aren’t like Renly.”

“Lay down, Brienne,” Jaime says. 

Brienne falls back onto the bed almost against her will.

“No,” Jaime says. “I’m not like Renly. Renly preferred men.”

“But you and Addam were –” Brienne can’t say it.

“Some of us like both.” Addam’s voice is low and soft, drifting from Jaime’s other side. “Though Jaime and I tend to prefer women, more often.” 

This is not the sort of thing Brienne’s Septa ever spoke of. 

“It’s common in camps,” Jaime says. “Surely you’ve seen it.”

“When there were no camp whores,” Brienne admits. “Or among men who couldn’t find them.”

There are camp followers now, few but they are there. And as commander and his second, Jaime and Addam could surely avail themselves of the women’s services. 

“Neither of us have any interest in whores.” Jaime is very matter-of-fact about it. 

“It’s fine enough on one’s own,” Addam says. “But another person makes it … better.”

Brienne chances a glance over. Jaime’s hand is still loosely circling her wrist, but Addam’s has not moved from beneath the furs, though he’s still now. Brienne can see, dim outlines in the dark, even with the layers covering them, the way the blankets push up from between their legs. 

“Of course you could always join us,” Jaime says. His voice is light and teasing, but there’s a dark undercurrent to it that makes Brienne shudder. 

“I’m not a man,” Brienne reminds them.

“Oh, I am very aware of that,” Jaime says. Then he seems to think about it. “Brienne you do know that women can do this too.”

Brienne does not know that, but Addam saves her from answering. 

“Of course she doesn’t,” Addam says. “Do you think highborn ladies are taught these things? Has anyone even told you women can find pleasure in bedding as well as men?” 

“Whores can,” Brienne says. “And wantons.”

She wonders, sometimes, if she is a wanton, the way her breath catches and her insides twist at how beautiful Jaime is, how she wants to reach out and touch him, just to feel his skin. 

“Highborn ladies too,” Addam says. “I assure you.” 

Addam was married once, Brienne remembers. His wife lost to a fever some years earlier. 

“Brienne.” Jaime sounds unbearably sad, as if this is a tragedy to him. 

“We could show you,” Addam offers. His voice is so soft Brienne almost thinks she imagined it. But the tent goes still, as if all three of them are holding their breath.

“You would still be a maiden,” Jaime says. 

“I –” Brienne doesn’t know how to finish her thought. She’s not sure she has a complete thought.

Jaime’s fingers tighten on her arm, his thumb stroking back and forth on the tender skin of her wrist. It suddenly feels like the most sensitive and important place on Brienne’s entire body. 

Brienne has seen and heard men take pleasure from their own bodies for years. It has never once occurred to her that her own could do such a thing. It suddenly feels like a betrayal, a secret kept mockingly behind her back. That must be the reason she closes her eyes and agrees.

Jaime stills long enough for Brienne to worry that they were just japing, mocking her. Then suddenly Jaime is letting go of her wrist, reaching out and yanking her on top of him and then over, the contact with his body a quick and confusing burst of hard lines and heat and then Brienne is sandwiched between both men. 

The air is still freezing but Brienne feels hot all over, her skin feels stretched too tight somehow. She lays motionless, unsure of what she should do, of why she’s even agreeing to something so improper.

Her Septa must be rolling over in her grave.

“It’s okay,” Addam says, his voice soothing. Like she’s a skittish horse. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“But it will feel so good,” Jaime says from her other side. His voice is raspy and dark, sending a shudder through Brienne. They’re all so close, she wonders if they can feel it. “Don’t you want to feel good?”

“We don’t have to touch you,” Addam says, when Brienne doesn’t answer. “We can, or you can touch yourself.” 

Jaime makes a small noise in his throat, and the covers shift. Brienne realizes his hand is moving again, feels the shifting under the covers, slow and steady. It makes her breath catch. 

“I don’t know how,” she admits, her face burning with shame. 

“We’ll help you,” Addam says. “Do you trust us.”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Addam says. “Slip your hand under your hose.”

Brienne follows his whispered words, feeling the strangeness of touching this part of herself for reasons other than cleanliness. She hasn’t considered it much at all, but Addam urges her on and Jaime moans next to her when she haltingly responds to their questions. 

“Yes,” she says, when her fingers part the folds of skin and slide against her. “It’s …”

Jaime groans. “I wish I could feel you,” he mumbles. “How wet you are, so soft and good.”

His words send another surge of heat through Brienne, even as she knows he’d say that to any woman, if he’s like this. 

Then Addam is prompting her to slide her fingers up, around, to look for something and Brienne doesn’t understand until she brushes over a spot that has her gasping and arching her hips off the bed. 

It’s so good, so good in ways Brienne didn’t know her body could feel, she doesn’t even mind that Addam chuckles next to her, his own movements speeding up next to her. The dull ache that Brienne feels when she looks at Jaime or Addam when they are being particularly beautiful or kind is somehow better and worse at the same time.

Brienne is distantly ashamed by the noises coming from her throat as she rubs against herself, no longer needing Addam’s guidance. She can’t bring herself to use her fingers inside herself as he suggests, it’s too close to – she just can’t. 

But Brienne feels so good like this, she can’t stay still, twisting, and she brushes against Addam and Jaime, feeling their skin hot through their bedclothes, their breath panting against her. Everything narrows down to this tent, this moment, the way her body seems centered on that one spot making her feel like she’s flying. On the way Jaime is moaning and whining, the way she can feel him jerk harder into his hand when she brushes against him. The quieter gasps from Addam, the way he shivers slightly when they touch, the way he offers quiet encouragement. 

Brienne is wondering why this isn’t told to women, why this is just for men, why people don’t spend all their time like this if it can feel so good and then suddenly everything is coiling tighter and tighter and Brienne starts to pull away.

“Don’t,” Jaime says, sounding almost desperate. “Keep going.”

Brienne follows his command without thinking, fingers going faster and she hears Addam moan finally on her other side, his body going stiff, then falling limp. Brienne suddenly feels like everything is breaking apart, like she’s going to burst out of her skin as pleasure rolls through her and feels herself shake on the furs. Brienne yanks her hand away, as her muscles slowly unclench, feeling Jaime shake against her on the other side. 

They all lay there like that, gasping for breath and not speaking, until they slowly drift back off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been loving J/A/B since sameboots started this trend. All hail sameboots! Anyway, this is premised on the idea that Brienne seems to have had a particularly dour Septa and got a very incomplete, very biased sexual education (or lack of) and had few relationships with other highborn ladies that might have enlightened her. So she's incredibly ignorant of her own body. 
> 
> I already have more plotted out in this, honestly, the sexual education of Brienne of Tarth, with Addam and Jaime as willing and enthusiastic teachers. And then feelings. And then figuring out how others would react to the eventual figuring out there's some threesome stuff going down with the most terrifying knights of the seven kingdoms.


	23. Nov 23: Thankful (Stark Family, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa loves Thanksgiving with her family, even if it's chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We now return to your regularly scheduled fluff.
> 
> General Audiences. No warnings. Small Town AU.

There’s nothing quiet about a Stark family Thanksgiving. 

Sansa has been working since Tuesday, helping get everything ready. Between extended family, significant others, and friends (or strays) they’re over twenty this year. 

Which is fine, it just means Sansa has been spending the better part of the past week at her parent’s house working on prep. At least Robb and Bran are helping, and Jon if he’s not working. 

If Sansa never sees another cranberry again in her life, it will be too soon.

(She says this every year.)

Still, Sansa feels a swell of warmth when she looks around the dining room. Her dad has put several of the leaves in the table, and it fits all of them comfortably, even if the chairs don’t all match. (Aunt Lysa definitely has something to say about that, but thankfully Uncle Jon is good at re-directing her. Usually.)

The table is decorated with leaves and gourds, and it actually looks nice this year, now that the duty has passed from Rickon to Robin, as the youngest child. Rickon’s tables tended to look like a disaster hit, but nobody was going to let him get out of it. 

Robin has issues, but Sansa’s cousin at least has some degree of thoughtfulness. Even if it had taken him two hours to get the job done, because he’d had to count every leaf and evenly distribute them. 

Sansa’s honestly surprised that the table doesn’t sag under the weight of all the food. Two golden brown turkeys, giant pans of stuffing, huge bowls of cranberry sauce and gravy, an actual vat of mashed potatoes, two varieties of sweet potatoes (thank god they’re no longer having the annual marshmallow vs. pecan crust debate) are just a start. 

Maybe it’s silly, but there’s something so special about only getting the dishes once a year. Sansa knows she could make green bean casserole or creamed onions any time, but there’s something better about them for only being once a year.

She’s also looking forward to trying the savory mashed squash Mr. Reed brought this year (Sansa still can’t call him Howland, even though he’s asked her too, it feels too weird) and the Moroccan carrot dish her mom has added. Sansa thinks the regular carrots are great, but her mom says she’ll go insane if she keeps making the same exact thing for another 40-some years, so whatever makes her happy.

Sansa can’t imagine having Thanksgiving in a smaller crowd, not having to elbow Robb and Arya to get to the last bit of corn pudding or almost shouting to be heard. Or waiting impatiently for everyone to go around saying what they’re thankful for, which takes for_ever_, or watching Rickon and Arya make faces at each other with food in their mouths. Which, honestly, Rickon is 22, they should have grown out of that. 

Sansa wishes her new boss at the animal shelter had agreed to come. Brienne is so nice and so smart and so strong, Sansa looks up to her. And Brienne said it’s just her and her father! How do you even cook a turkey for two people? It makes Sansa want to cry.

It’s not like there aren’t other people here. Arya always brings her boss, because his family is all back in Braavos and they don’t do Thanksgiving there anyway. And Bran’s boss is here this year too, since Alys’ father died last year. 

Alys looks a little shell-shocked, actually. Sansa should probably check on her before dessert. The Starks, en masse, can be a bit overwhelming if you’re not used to it. And Bran is too busy making eyes at Meera to notice anything else. 

What’s most interesting this year is saying thanks. Rickon says thanks for _teaching people new things_, which is the most un-Rickon like thing Sansa has ever heard, so something is up there. Robb mumbled something about kindness and forgiveness, which makes Sansa think he’s got someone he’s trying to date and failing (as usual). Then Jon says coffee and Jon _barely even drinks coffee_, what is going on?

Then again, Sansa says yarn and tea, which has a few of her siblings raising their eyebrows. So she’s not entirely blameless. 

Luckily, she’s seated between Alys – whose baked mushrooms with parmesan are amazing, they are definitely inviting her back next year with a request for them – and Grandfather Tully, who is talking about his interesting cases so far this year. Sansa hums politely and pretends to care about the town’s new loitering laws and how it’s clogging up the court and taking up all Grandfather’s time, while trying desperately to turn the conversation back to Alys and new ideas for ice cream flavors at the shop.

Sansa is practically bursting by the time the guests leave (but not before she gets Syrio’s pumpkin gnocchi recipe) and the Uncles go to clean up and they all head to the den for the traditional sibling time.

Or, interrogate and beat each other until everyone spills their secrets time. 

“Coffee?” Sansa demands, looking at Jon. Then turns to Rickon. “And teaching people?”

“What the fuck,” Bran agrees. He’s still got a plate of pie, and that’s where the last slice of apple cider cream pie went, the little jerk. Sansa wanted that piece. 

Jon breaks first, of course, and has an epic crush on the coffee girl at Wildlings. Sansa has met her a few times – Jon is going to get eaten alive. Probably before he even gets laid. 

Robb turns about seven shades of red talking about Talisa at the pharmacy, and Sansa makes a note to go pick up some vitamins and do recon. 

Sansa obligingly spills about Margaery, because she’s totally been waiting for this chance, until Arya starts fake gagging. It’s not Sansa’s fault Margaery is so wonderful and easy to talk about, honestly.

Rickon is the last to cave. It takes Arya jumping on his neck like a monkey and holding him still while Sansa and Robb tickle him until he caves. It’s worked like a charm since he was four, although he’s become significantly more difficult to hold down, hence Arya. 

Sansa politely refrains from asking where her sister learned the spots to use to effectively immobilize someone much bigger than herself. 

“I just filled in for Uncle Brynden with some stuff,” Rickon says. 

Arya twists his ear. 

“There was a girl who’s kinda cool,” Rickon allows. He looks over. “She reminds me of you, kinda.”

Sansa stops tickling him in shock. 

Look, she loves all her brothers (and Arya) but Sansa and Rickon are about as polar opposite as it’s possible to be. 

“Me?” Sansa repeats, in case he’s actually talking to Arya. 

“Yeah, she’s like some kind of a Disney princess or something,” Rickon goes on. His cheeks are actually turning pink. “She’s really sweet, it’s like you expect birds to fly out and sing songs while flying around her or something.”

Arya falls off Rickon’s back in shock. 

Sansa didn’t realize Rickon had paid such close attention to the Disney movies she’d make him watch when they were kid, but clearly Cinderella sunk in at least a little. 

Robb waves his hand in front of Rickon’s face. “Are you drunk?”

“What?” 

It’s a hilariously defensive yelp coming from someone who’s six foot tall, with full sleeve tattoos and what is probably a very handsome beard. Or something. He’s very proud of it, Sansa doesn’t pretend to know or care about the attractiveness of facial hair. 

“Opposites can attract,” Jon offers, but he’s smirking. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Rickon argues. 

It’s more words than Sansa has heard her youngest brother say about anyone ever, let alone a girl. Woman, she supposes, now they’re all adults. As weird as that is. 

“Have you slept with her?” Bran is always the bluntest one. 

“It’s not a thing,” Rickon says again. “I’ve just seen her around a couple of times.”

A woman Rickon has seen around and wants to talk to and hasn’t slept with already? This just gets more interesting by the minute. 

It takes a while but they eventually weasel a name out of him, Shireen Baratheon, although he refuses to say what she does. Which means it’s embarrassing. Considering Rickon’s last hookups have included a stripper, a drummer in a failed rock band, a woman with facial tattoos, and a woman Sansa is pretty sure was a drug dealer, she’s not sure what qualifies as embarrassing for him.

It’s so nice to hear though. Maybe he’ll find someone that cares about him. Sansa thinks her brother wants that a lot more than he’ll admit. It’s fills her with joy to see most of her siblings closer to finding their person, and hopefully Sansa is too.

Now she just has to figure someone out for Arya, and it will be just perfect. 

Thanksgiving next year might be even bigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa the romantic wants nothing more than for all her family to be partnered up and in love. 
> 
> My personal sweet potato opinion is savory over sugary but if you must, pecan topping. Marshmallows are too much. 
> 
> Obligatory recipes which I have not made but want to. [baked mushrooms with red wine and parmesan crumbs](https://neighborfoodblog.com/2016/11/baked-mushrooms-with-red-wine-and-parmesan-crumbs.html), [pumpkin gnocchi with sage butter sauce](https://pinchofyum.com/pumpkin-gnocchi) and [apple cider cream pie](https://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/apple-cider-cream-pie). Well, I've done the pie, it's great. The others sound good, though.


	24. Nov 24: Music (Missandei/Greyworm, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy loves Christmas, she just doesn't love the Westeros Elementary School holiday show. But maybe this year will be different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General Audiences. Small Town AU. Look at chapter titles to see others in this AU.

Missandei loves the holidays. She loves the cheer and the presents and the excited faces of her students. 

She does not love the holiday show at Westeros elementary.

First of all, to call it a holiday show is misleading. It’s a Christmas show with “Dreidel Dreidel Driedel” shoved in for half a song before transitioning back to Santa and Jesus.

Missy isn’t even Jewish and she finds that offensive. 

Oh, and there’s the half a verse of a Kwanzaa song that old Sister Eglantine had added when Missy got hired. Missy tried to appreciate that in the spirit it was intended, even though her family doesn’t celebrate Kwanzaa. Not that anyone asked.

Missy is glad that Sister Eglantine retired, and she’s heard good things about the new music teacher, who she’s only met briefly but she’s not terribly optimistic about anything changing. Sister Mordane embraces change at roughly the same rate as continental drift.

Missy already has the damn Dreidel song stuck in her head as she closes up her classroom and heads over to the music room. She waves at Shireen through the window, where the other woman is supervising the run around and snack break the kids get before rehearsal. 

Grey, the new music teacher, is more relaxed than he’d been the first time they met. He’s also somehow getting away with wearing sneakers, which makes Missy frown. 

Somehow she and Shireen are held to much stricter dress code standards than Tormund, who teaches gym, and apparently Grey. 

“It’s not that bad,” Grey says, and Missy realizes she’s been silently glaring.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I was just thinking about something else.”

There’s no time to get into her rant about the patriarchy, not if they’re going to get rehearsal going. Plus, it always leads to the rant on intersectional feminism, which is even longer. 

“I’m thinking we’ll try something different,” Grey says. He hands over a folder, filled with sheet music. “Actually make it a winter show. And I wanted to get your opinion on a couple of other possibilities.” 

“Has Sister Mordane seen this?”

Missy rifles through the folder. There’s Frosty the Snowman, which she could personally live without, Let It Snow, Sleigh Ride, Jingle Bells, Winter Wonderland. And one song she doesn’t recognize.

“It’s an old version of Holly and the Ivy,” Grey explains. He must have noticed her confusion. “It’s more pagan, really, no mentions of Jesus or God. And it’s lovely.” 

It’s also asking a lot of children aged five to eleven, based on the sheet music. 

“I’m planning on letting the Sister know after we’ve rehearsed,” Grey says. He gives a small grin. “I mean, we can’t make the kids learn an entirely new show so late, can we?”

“I love you.” It slips out before Missy can stop herself.

Luckily Grey just laughs.

“The last program was really bad,” he agrees. 

“What did you want my opinion on?” 

“I’m thinking of adding a newer song,” Grey says. He passes a new piece of music over.

“I love Winter Song,” Missy says. It’s also complicated and maybe a little bit bittersweet for kids, but then again, Baby It’s Cold Outside had been in the old program. 

Missy had spent a full two hours trying to explain why the song was problematic overall but especially for kids. 

She’d failed.

“I’m also thinking of adjusting how we perform,” Grey continues. “It’s asking a lot for the little ones to do the full thing, so I’m thinking we’ll have the full school for Frosty and Winter Wonderland, maybe Let It Snow. Then let them go, the rest for everything but Winter Song and The Holly and The Ivy, which will just be the oldest kids.” 

That will certainly make the more complicated songs go over better, and he’s not wrong about it.

“Worth a try,” Missy says.

Grey smiles at her again, which is really a very lovely smile, Missy notices. She takes her place as accompanist, thankful she only has to do so in rehearsals. Playing in public isn’t her favorite, but it’s too difficult for any teacher to play and teach a gaggle of children new songs at the same time while arranging them for stage. 

The kids are as on board with the new ideas as Missy is, and the older ones actually cheer when they get the new folders. They manage to get through the program a few times before the parents arrive and the kids don’t sound half bad for a first rehearsal. Grey must have been doing a lot in class to get them comfortable.

He also swears them all to secrecy, saying the program is going to be a surprise for their families. And doesn’t mention that Tommen Baratheon isn’t singing at all, just standing there clutching his sister’s hand.

It’s going to be hard to separate those two for the final arrangement. Tommen has been a mess since everything with his parents, and Missy is becoming concerned that he’s still not speaking.

The boy’s uncle assures her that doctors say it will pass with time, but he’d looked as stressed about it as Missy feels. 

She and Grey work out a schedule for rehearsals, and tossing costume ideas back and forth, since Grey is also rejecting the collection of antler headbands and Santa hats. 

“Sister Mordane is going to hate it,” Missy says. “Let’s make it happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of starting to post expanded, cleaned up and chronological order things from this AU. Sooo. yeah. That might happen. 
> 
> For music, [Winter Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=63&v=UkOKCWDJ4iA&feature=emb_logo) is beautiful and there are older versions of The Holly and The Ivy, but Grey is using a reworked version based on those, like [this one](https://yearofballads.wordpress.com/2011/01/03/2-the-holly-and-the-ivy-solstice-edition/).


	25. Nov 25: Candle (Brienne-centric, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne hasn't decorated in years, and hasn't celebrated advent since her mother was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences. No warnings. Small Town AU, check chapter titles to find others in this 'verse.

It’s Sansa’s idea to decorate the shelter for the holidays. 

Brienne’s lead volunteer is very nice, but she kind of bowls Brienne over with her enthusiasm sometimes. Still, Sansa is at the shelter several days a week and she’s great with all the animals, but especially dogs. 

Brienne is somewhat worried that too much holiday cheer will encourage people to give pets as gift, which is a terrible idea, but Sansa assures her that she’ll instruct all volunteers to alert Brienne if anyone tries.

So Brienne has Sansa raise the issue at the next staff meeting. Which is basically Brienne, Asha, and Sansa slumped on battered couches, drinking wine and eating something sweet. 

This week Asha’s brought persimmon tarts from the new bakery. They’re amazing.

“I’m Jewish,” Asha says flatly, looking at Sansa.

“Yes, I remember,” Sansa says. “We’ll do a menorah too, I’ve only known you for my entire life.” 

Asha rolls her eyes.

“I mean, we want it to be welcoming here,” Sansa says. “It will make people more likely to want to bring a pet home, if it feels cozy and homey.”

“I don’t mind either way,” Brienne says, ignoring the wounded look Sansa gives her. 

“I’m not doing the work,” Asha finally says. Sansa waves the comment away, and then they’re on to discussing the newest batch of blankets Sansa has made as part of the Snuggles project and her idea to get the new yarn shop to promote the charity. 

Brienne’s mental image of decorations include maybe a small tree on the counter, a menorah as well for Asha, maybe some greenery. (She’s already laid down a no loose tinsel and no poinsettia rule for safety. And because she’s already pulled tinsel out of enough cat butts in her life.) 

But the shelter has transformed overnight. 

There are shiny tinsel garlands (up high, out of animal reach) and greenery with red bows on any surface they can be hung. Twinkling lights intertwine with most of the boughs, sparkling gently. Sansa has rearranged supplies and managed to put a full size tree in the front reception area. There’s a lovely menorah on the counter next to it, blue candles in it. 

When Brienne makes the rounds, she finds bows on most of the cages, and more strings of lights everywhere. 

It almost disguises how worn-down the building, how the paint is chipping and the floors about ten years past needing replacement. 

“It’s amazing,” Brienne tells Sansa. 

Sansa is busy gluing something together.

“Thanks!” she says brightly. “For ornaments, I”m taking our forever home photos from this year and making them into some cute things.”

Sansa holds one up, a cutout of a little dog house with a photo of a woman holding a puppy and beaming. 

Brienne tries to remember the last time she decorated for Christmas, and she finds she can’t. Her dad always has a tree and the nativity, so she’s never felt the need to do much for her own apartment. She’s the only one who ever sees it, so why does it matter?

Maybe she should, because there is something special about the way the shelter looks, and it seems to spread through everyone who visits. 

Brienne stops by Cregan’s over the weekend. She still feels a little ridiculous putting up decorations just for herself and the cats, but she gets a small tree that will fit on the top of the bookshelves, where it will be safe and some lights and a few inexpensive ornaments. 

She’s almost to the door when something catches her eye.

The last time Brienne had an advent wreath was when her mother was alive. The memories are hazy, but Brienne remembers watching her mother light the candles, singing a hymn together, the way her father and mother would lean against each other. How Brienne and Galladon would look forward to it, almost more than the chocolate from their advent calendars. Because it felt so warm and safe.

Brienne doesn’t remember any of the things she’s supposed to do when she lights the first candle, when the first Sunday comes around. She also feels ridiculous singing by herself, so she doesn’t. The wreath has to go up on the top of another bookshelf, near the tree, so Blue doesn’t catch her tail on fire. Again. 

It’s not the same as home. She doesn’t have anyone with her, doesn’t have the husband to curl up on the couch with or the children playing quietly that she thought, at five, she would someday have. Before she realized how she looked, how wrong it was, how she’s not meant for that. 

But she has a job that she likes, a business partner who’s maybe becoming something of a friend, a volunteer leader who seems determined to cheer the entire world up, her father is finally happy, and her cats are curled up around her. 

Her life could be a lot worse. Brienne watches the candle flicker in the dark, and then she remembers what her mother had said about each of the candles representing one element of anticipation for Christmas.

The first Sunday is hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poinsettias are toxic to cats and loose tinsel is very dangerous. Aside from the gross factor, it can get wrapped around their innards and do damage if you pull it out - leave to a trained vet. And maybe stick to the garlands.
> 
> My previous orange boy, a darling but dim cat named Fred, managed to light his tail on fire a few times. Once on a candle. Once on the gas stove. I put it out with my hand both times and to be perfectly honest, I don't think he even noticed. Cats are great.
> 
> Advent is the best. I swear I like it as much as Christmas. And I love the variety of advent calendars now. I have purchased the wine, cheese, and fancy chocolate varieties from Aldi. It's going to be great.


	26. Nov 26: Cozy (Lannister Brothers, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion has got it all wrong. Jaime was just being nice when he let the cat wench come over. There's nothing else going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences. No warnings. Takes place immediately following Cuddle.

“Well, that was certainly cozy.” Tyrion pauses from stirring whatever he has on the stove, smirking at Jaime, who is shutting the door of the condo. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jaime doesn’t know what Tyrion’s making, but it smells amazing. It never ceases to amuse him how much his younger brother has taken to cooking. Certainly it isn’t something either of them learned growing up, when the family had personal chefs. 

Jaime thinks Tyrion started learning to cook sometime during one of his periodic estrangements and disinheritances, when Tyrion realized how expensive eating out actually was. 

It’s probably the smart thing, but Jaime has never found the motivation to go beyond restaurants and the prepared meals one of the family chefs prepares and delivers to his freezer 

Well, that’s not entirely true. He learned to make breakfast potatoes and what his college roommate called half-assed chilaquiles to deal with hangovers that made the prospect of going out or eating healthy food seem terrible. 

“You and the cat lady,” Tyrion clarifies. “Why did she come over again?”

“She had a bad day.” Jaime thinks about what he’s learned since his first visit to the animal shelter. Maybe he’s naive or ignorant, but he’s really never considered what happens to animals nobody wants. His father hates pets, so they never were allowed any as children and the idea of pet ownership is something Jaime never really contemplated.

It makes him feel sick to his stomach to think that animals that animals who don’t get adopted, because they’re older or not cute enough or too quiet or too loud, get killed if they can’t find a home quick enough.

“So she called a total stranger?” 

“I told her she could,” Jaime says. “The older cat, Brenna, she’s been at the shelter more than a year, and they were going to put her down if she didn’t get adopted.”

Tyrion looks horrified. 

“And the surly wench almost _cried_ when she was handing her over.” Jaime shrugs helplessly. “I felt bad, I said she could visit if she wanted. That’s all.”

“Because you’re known for your infinite compassion for strangers,” Tyrion says

Jaime’s not _that_ bad, honestly.

“I can be nice.” 

“And do you always spill your family troubles to surly wenches?” Tyrion’s voice is mocking. “And stare longingly at them?”

“Were you _eavesdropping_?” It’s a stupid question, of course he was. 

“And staring through the crack in the door,” Tyrion confirms. 

“And I was not staring longingly,” Jaime adds. “She’s judgmental and cranky. She almost kept me from adopting the cats, because she thinks pets are bad ideas for gifts! And she barely ever smiles.”

“Yes, I always notice the expressions of strangers I don’t care about,” Tyrion says. “And then give them my phone number and let them come over and invade their personal space so I can touch them and give them hugs. Absolutely.”

Jaime had not been doing any such thing. Brienne had been sad, is all, and it has nothing to do with anything else. He just thinks it’s a shame she doesn’t smile more, because next to her eyes, it’s her best feature and does so much to transform her dour, homely face. It’s for her own good Jaime is trying to cheer her up. 

“She was sad,” Jaime says. “There’s nothing cozy about it.”

“Hmm.” Tyrion goes back to stirring, then checks something in the oven. “Well, at least now you have her number too.” 

Tyrion is ridiculous. Just because Jaime has Brienne’s phone number doesn’t mean he’s going to use it.

They’ll probably never see each other again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Denial is not just a river in Egypt, not with Jaime and Brienne.


	27. Nov 27: Window (Tyrion/Tysha, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion has no idea what a Christmas basket is, but Jaime is insistent that he find one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences, no warning, small town AU.

If Jaime gets any more filled with holiday cheer, Tyrion is going to punch him.

Well, he’ll get _Bronn_ to punch Jaime, but effectively the same thing.

This is probably why Jaime has custody of their sister’s kids and Tyrion doesn’t.

Still, Jaime is definitely going overboard for Christmas. Sure, Tyrion is spoiling the little brats rotten with all the expensive toys and clothes they could want, but that’s normal uncle behavior.

Jaime, on the other hand, seems to think he can turn their fucked up family into some kind of Hallmark movie. 

Getting Tommen a kitten is fine, although Tyrion finds the idea of scooping any animal’s shit out of a box disgusting. He doesn’t even mind keeping the animal for his brother until Christmas day (he’s hired a teenager who lives a few doors down and has a collection of animals that Tyrion thinks might be bordering on hoarding to come scoop the litterbox for him). 

Then Jaime had come home with not one kitten but two. And an older cat that seems to do nothing but sleep on Jaime’s guest bed and glare balefully at Tyrion. 

Tyrion has no idea what possessed his brother, and all Jaime has done is look at him with a kind of desperate, longing look in his eyes and say something about running out of time and ‘she was _sad_.’

Tyrion hasn’t worked out who she is yet, but it’s a most intriguing question. 

And now Jaime’s apartment looks like Christmas exploded all over and he’s sent Jaime to find a Christmas basket for the kittens.

Tyrion has no idea what the fuck a Christmas basket is, or where to buy one, but Jaime has only made a series of confusing hand gestures and references to movies. Tyrion had suggested one of those giant car bows (he looked it up one day, you can actually buy them) but no, a basket. An adorable, Christmas-themed basket.

Does anyone even use baskets these days? Tyrion thought they were a relic of the past, from peasant farmers and women carrying herbs to market. 

Maybe he should try the antique store.

Except Syrio gets manic and his little Stark help looks like she wants to slit Tyrion’s throat, so maybe Tyrion will leave that until last.

Tyrion is contemplating his choices, sipping a to-go cappuccino (the horror) and strolling along main street when the window catches his eye.

It’s one of the many new shops that seem to be springing up lately as the town tries to revitalize mainstreet and the window is done up to look like a winter holiday fantasy, with little animals leaping among trees decorated with snow. Elaborate paper stars, silver with intricate designs cut in, hang above it all.

It seems like exactly the kind of place that might have a basket.

Opening the door, Tyrion is confronted with shelves and shelves of colorful fabric, stretching to the ceiling. He had no idea you could buy fabric in so many varieties. 

There are no baskets visible, though, and Tyrion is about to give up and brave Syrio’s murder-antique store when a woman emerges from somewhere. She’s probably a bit younger than he is, dark hair falling in loose waves down her back, and she’s quite possibly the prettiest girl Tyrion has ever seen.

“May I help you?”

Even her voice is pretty. 

Tyrion wonders if there’s any possible way he can get out of this without looking like an idiot. 

Probably not.

“I’m looking for a Christmas basket,” he says, with a heavy sigh.

The woman looks confused. 

“My brother bought kittens for our nephew for Christmas,” Tyrion tries to explain. “He wants to put them in a basket that’s ... festive?”

The woman claps her hands delightedly. 

“That’s adorable,” she says, her whole face lighting up. “I think we can sort something out.”

She looks so enthused that Tyrion feels compelled to point out he’s caring for the kittens in the meantime as he follows her into the depths of the store. Once he’s past the endless walls of fabric, there seem to be other supplies too, presumably for crafts? It seems like the kind of place you buy things for craft.

The woman - Tysha, she’s introduced herself – pulls various things off of shelves, humming to herself and chattering at Tyrion. Tyrion nods absently, trying to form a coherent response.

Which he can’t really do, when she’s contemplating color schemes and kitten comfort (he’s seen the animals fall asleep draped over a bedframe, they don’t have any concept of discomfort as far as Tyrion is aware) and level of festiveness.

By the time he’s done, Tyrion has dropped a decent amount of money on a large basket (because apparently people DO buy baskets still), an oversize gift tag with Tommen’s name written in Tysha’s delicate calligraphy, and a large bow. He’s also purchased a bunch of fabric in Christmas prints and a small pillow, which he is paying Tysha to turn into a pillow and cover for the basket.

Apparently a cover and a pillow are _essential_ for kitten Christmas gifts.

Tyrion’s half-tempted to introduce Tysha to Jaime, but he selfishly hopes the two never meet, at least not until Tysha is aware that height aside, Tyrion is clearly the superior Lannister. 

Tyrion promises to provide kitten photos when he comes back to pick up the things.

Tysha’s smile as leaves is enough to make even Tyrion start humming a Christmas carol under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In keeping with general fluffiness, this is a no incest AU, FYI. Cersei has been controlling and made Jaime do her bidding, but the kids are hers and (probably) Robert's. Not Jaime's. 
> 
> As you might guess, this takes place before Cuddle and Cozy.
> 
> Baskets are, in general, shockingly expensive. And Tysha absolutely took one look at Tyrion and went, you need to hem this fabric and you have no idea what that means, do you? and decided to do it for him.


	28. Nov 28: Knit Sweater (Sansa/Margaery, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa doesn't know as much about Margaery as she'd like. Including some important things. Like if she dates girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences, Small Town AU.

“I think I’m going to make a sweater,” Sansa says. She holds one of the skeins she’s been examining to her face, then the inside of her wrist.

“Will it finally be for you?” Margaery asks.

“I knit for me.” Sansa does, honestly, once in a while. It’s just that her family is so big and there’s so many people to make things for.

“You can be selfish,” Margaery says. She’s got a little half-smile on her face when she says it, though, so she’s probably not actually upset.

Some knitters get irrationally angry about gift knitting, even if they aren’t the ones doing it.

“I like knitting for people.” Sansa strokes the yarn thinking about colors. Maybe she’ll find a good pink. It’s so hard to wear pink as a redhead, but she does love it. 

“You just deserve nice things too,” Margaery says stubbornly. 

Sansa feels a blush come to her cheeks. She needs to be realistic, though. She thinks Margaery has been flirting, but there’s no guarantee. Although Margaery had made a comment about Sansa referring to Brienne as straight. 

Sansa always has such a hard time telling if women are flirting and just being friendly. And she’ s not as good at getting to the point as Asha.

Although looking at a woman and saying “you’re hot, get your pants off” is maybe not Sansa’s style anyway.

It does seem to work for Asha.

Sansa takes her selection of yarn to one of the couches, piling it in different combinations to see the colors. Margaery trails after, sometimes picking a skein out and swapping it with another. 

“So how did you learn to knit? Your brother?”

Is pink and green to over done? Sansa really can’t decide, there are so many color combinations that look good. 

“Loras? Oh god, know, he’d have killed me out of frustration.” Margaery laughs a little. “We get along great but teaching each other things is not what we’re good at.”

Sansa holds some pink and blue together, then rejects it. Too baby’s nursery-like. 

Margaery takes the blue and replaces it with a sunny yellow, then adds a peach skein.

“My ex taught me,” Margaery continues. “She was really good, too. Like you.”

Sansa tries not to grin in excitement. 

There’s definitely a chance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is super short, and still took me all day in between cooking Thanksgiving dinner and my parents making it difficult to focus. BUT HEY. It's words on a page. Anyway, happy Thanksgiving to all my fellow Americans, I hope you're stuffed with turkey as I am. And everything else.


	29. Nov 29: Book (Tyrion/Tysha, Small Town AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion is surprised by how many last-minute shoppers turn up at a bookstore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences. No warnings. Small town AU.

Tyrion is surprised to get so many last minute shoppers in a bookstore. But the days leading up to Christmas are exceptionally busy for Between the Covers. 

Tyrion takes a certain amount of satisfaction over it, especially as he goes over his books and realizes he’s going to end the year profitably, despite his father’s dire predictions.

The way Tywin had reacted when Tyrion announced he’d be leaving the bank to open the store, you’d think he’d announced he was starting a career as a corner drug dealer and pimp. 

Baelish has the market cornered on drugs and whores, though, so Tyrion really couldn’t get in on that even if he wanted to.

Which he doesn’t. Tyrion finds doing drugs and hiring whores more enjoyable than selling either. Or he did, when he was in his 20s.

At any rate, it’s not like Tyrion relies on the income from the store to survive. Years of working at the bank, combined with the trust fund from his mother and all the money saved while living off his father when he worked at the bank left him plenty. Add in some smart investments, and Tyrion could go lie on a beach in Aruba for the rest of his life if he felt so inclined.

But almost a year in, Tyrion is pleased to see that his shop is attracting a good number of customers. Even if an alarming number of them read nothing but mass market paperbacks and he’s had to add a comics section after an annoying number of requests. Mostly from Sam Tarly. 

Still, there are a few people in town who have broader tastes, and Tyrion is working on curating different displays to try and expose people to books that don’t feature murders or explicit and cringe-worthy sex scenes.

His current display features books on the pagan origins of Christmas, folklore relating to said pagan origins, and books on hygge. 

When the bell jingles on December 23rd, Tyrion expects to be directing yet another person looking for whatever book the New York Times or some morning show insists will make a perfect holiday gift for everyone.

Instead, Tysha from the fabric store slams her hands down on the counter, looking frantic. 

“I need help and I’m desperate,” she says without preamble.

Tyrion blinks. 

He’d help any customer who came in, but Tyrion is feeling especially grateful to Tysha, who had presented him with a stuffed pillow and basket cover in Christmas fabric so adorable it made Tyrion want to watch a few hours of depressing documentaries to regain his usual cynicism. The fabric, Tysha had informed him, was flannel so the kittens can use it as a blanket after the holiday.

Jaime is going to love it. 

Hopefully so will Tommen. 

Tyrion climbs down off his chair and walks to the front of the counter. It’s somewhat frustrating to have a counter that he can’t see over, but asking average people to bend over to check out on a counter Tyrion finds comfortable doesn’t seem like the wises business strategy. 

Tysha, it emerges, needs a Christmas present for her father. And she is out of ideas for something he’ll like. 

“What does he read?” Tyrion asks. 

“He doesn’t,” Tysha says. “But he doesn’t have any hobbies and a book at least – well.”

Tysha’s father, she explains, had been a farmer until a combine accident that’s left him in a wheelchair and unable to do any of the things he’s used to. He’s perfectly fine, from the waist up, but that’s the problem.

“He’s bored,” Tysha says. “He’s a farmer, he hasn’t had spare time since he was in grade school. Now he’s got nothing but time and he has no idea what to do with it. He needs a hobby, one that doesn’t involve walking.”

Tyrion tries to probe deeper but he gets nowhere. No hobbies. No interests other than having worked his whole life. 

Tysha’s father sounds a lot like Tyrion’s, really, except he must be kinder, if the way Tysha is so diligently looking for a gift is any indication. 

And it is the day for difficult fathers, apparently, because the bell rings again to admit an equally flustered Dr. Tarth.

“He used to read murder mysteries,” Dr. Tarth says, while Tyrion keeps half an eye on Tysha browsing through the store’s agriculture collection. It’s mostly how-to books for hobbyists and memoirs from homesteaders who seem to think nobody has lived off the land until they quit their corporate job to give it a try. Tyrion doesn’t think much there would interest an actual farmer. “But I don’t think he really liked them, he just had a lot of time on the boat and most of his crew read them. Now he’s got the pizza place but I need to get him something for Christmas.” 

That gets Tyrion’s attention. 

“Your father runs Evenfall’s?” 

“It’s been his dream,” Dr. Tarth says. “When I moved here, he decided to give it a shot.”

“It’s the best thing to happen to Westeros in years,” Tysha says. Tyrion can only nod his agreement. 

Not only does it mean no more driving forty minutes for pizza, there’s even delivery. 

Tyrion isn’t sure his brother and niblings would get dinner at all many nights if it weren’t for Evenfall’s. Tyrion’s tried, but last time Jaime tried to cook he got distracted, left the pot on the stove and the water all burned away and half-melted the bottom of it. 

Tyrion didn’t know that was even possible. 

“I don’t suppose either of your fathers mentioned anything they’d like?” Tyrion doesn’t have much hope. People only seem to come to the bookstore for gifts if they have a particular book in mind or if they’re totally lost and out of ideas. 

Unfortunately, Tysha and Jaime’s cat wench seem to fall into the latter category. 

“For me to be happy and loved,” Dr. Tarth says glumly. 

Tyrion wonders, briefly, if he could just stick a bow on Jaime and deliver him to Evenfall’s with a note to lock him and Dr. Tarth in a room until they figure out there’s enough sexual tension between them to start a small fire. 

Probably not. 

Tysha is nodding her agreement, also looking depressed. 

Tyrion wonders what he would do if his father said he wanted Tyrion to be happy and loved.

Probably have him committed for a psychiatric evaluation. 

The two women seem to have reached some sort of spontaneous understanding and are commiserating with each other. 

“He doesn’t understand that I _am_ happy,” Tyrion hears Tysha saying as he heads off down the aisles. “If I meet someone that’s great, but I do like my life.”

“I’ve accepted that it’s not going to happen,” Dr. Tarth is telling Tysha, when Tyrion returns with a stack of books. “I know what I look like. But he just won’t see it.” 

Oh lord. Tyrion knows low self-esteem when he hears it, and from Dr. Tarth’s tone, she’s never going to make the first move in a relationship.

That leaves this on _Jaime_, and Tyrion’s well aware of how terrible his brother is at flirting. And women in general.

Tyrion is never going to get niblings that don’t come from his demonspawn sister. 

That’s a problem for later, though, and books are a problem for now. As is endearing himself to both women, albeit for different reasons.

Well, the same reason, Tyrion supposes, but for different people. He has no interest in the Amazonian cat lady, even if wouldn’t look ridiculous. 

In the end, Tysha ends up with a book on farmers who survived the dust bowl, while Dr. Tarth walks out with a book on the spread of Italian food through the world. 

Tyrion hopes they’ll both return soon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, we're playing fast and loose with mixing real world geography and Game of Thrones. BECAUSE I CAN. 
> 
> Tysha's book is [The Worst Hard Time](https://www.amazon.com/Worst-Hard-Time-Survived-American/dp/0618773479) and Brienne's is [How Italian Food Conquered the World](https://www.amazon.com/How-Italian-Food-Conquered-World/dp/0230104398). I have read neither, but want to read both. Someday. Along with all the other books. Pray for my Amazon wishlist, it extends far beyond my available time. 
> 
> [This](https://www.spoonflower.com/en/fabric/6987840-gingerbread-christmas-treats-by-run_quiltgirl_run) is the fabric for the kitten basket of adorableness.


	30. Nov 30: Frost (Brienne-centric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne isn't used to winter, or a lot of things in Westeros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audiences, no warning, small town AU.

Brienne knew, somewhat abstractly, that Westeros got long, cold winters when she decided to move. Brienne has never had a real winter, only vaguely remembers the year snow fell on Tarth. It’s not the tropics on Tarth, Brienne is used to wearing sweaters and long pants and she’s figured she’d be fine.

But it’s October, now, her feet feel like they’ll never be warm again and now the windshield on her car is covered in ice.

The delight Brienne had felt at the frost sparkling on the grass as she drank her tea and looked out the window evaporates quickly. 

Brienne has been sitting in her car, heater running, trying her wipers every so often and wincing at the harsh scraping noise, when there’s a knock on her window. 

Brienne vaguely recognizes the woman as one of the tenants from her floor. 

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” The woman looks like a fairy tale princess, her long dark hair falling over a pretty pink coat, the blue hat and gloves and scarf she’s wearing matching her boots. 

She doesn’t look like she’s cold at all, while Brienne is shivering in her father’s old peacoat and one of her warmer sweaters and jeans. 

“Yes, from Tarth,” Brienne answers.

“You need an ice scraper.” The woman holds up her hand. “One second.”

She comes back with a long-handled tool and begins chipping away at Brienne’s windshield with surprising strength. The woman, Brienne learns as she takes the scraper and uses her greater height for more reach, is Shireen Baratheon and she teaches at the local school. 

“You need better gloves,” Shireen says, looking at Brienne’s worn fingerless mitts. “And hats and a lined coat. This is nothing for us.”

Brienne groans before she can stop herself.

By the time she’s cleared her car, Brienne has a shopping list for warm clothing, things like a snow shovel even though the landlord is supposed to clear the lot (“He doesn’t,” Shireen sighs, and then uses a word that’s very inappropriate for a schoolteacher to describe Baelish), and a new appreciation for fleece-lined anything and thermal underwear. 

Shireen gives her a wave and insists they must get together for coffee sometime, claiming it’s nice to have a normal neighbor. 

Brienne doesn’t really expect she’ll follow through. 

But Brienne does go shopping on Saturday, shoving her distaste for the chore back and heading to Cregan’s department store. 

She’s surprised to see her head volunteer from the animal shelter working the floor. 

“My parents store,” Sansa explains, obligingly leading Brienne to the men’s section and helping her find most of the things on Shireen’s list. Fleece-lined jeans, heavier sweaters, thermal base layers and boots. 

Brienne tamps down on the brief feeling of regret that she’s stuck with clunky, brown boots instead of something cute. Not that she’d wear powder blue, fur-topped ones like Shireen, but it would be nice to have something pretty and feminine that fits her.

That must be why she allows Sansa to coax her into the woman’s department. 

“We do alterations, and we carry plenty of tall sizes,” Sansa explains. She’s not exactly petite herself, slim but definitely taller than average.

Still not as tall as Brienne, which means there’s at least some hope of things fitting her. 

Sansa seems determined, digging through racks with enthusiasm. 

“Don’t you want something nice?” Sansa asks, piling dresses over her arm as Brienne frowns. “I know your job needs practical clothes, but we do have the town holiday party coming up.”

“I don’t wear dresses,” Brienen says automatically. “I can’t.”

Sansa raises an eyebrow.

Brienne gestures at her shoulders, sighing. She doesn’t know if women like Sansa genuinely don’t understand how large she is or if they’re just mean enough to want to see how grotesque Brienne looks. 

Brienne doesn’t think Sansa would be that cruel. She’s always been kind when they’ve worked together, and Asha has nothing but good things to say about the woman who keeps the volunteers at the shelter running smoothly. 

“Nonsense,” Sansa says briskly. “You just need the right dress.”

The right dress, if it exists, is not at Cregan’s, though Sansa tries to talk Brienne into a few. Brienne eventually finds herself buying a blue jumpsuit which miraculously does fit, or almost. Sansa assures her the store can let out the hem and fix the inch of ankle showing at the leg. Brienne will need to wear something underneath it, the neckline plunges too low, if she wears it out in public. 

There’s something kind of nice about having an article of clothing so decidedly feminine, even if Brienne never wears it. And Sansa looks so pleased when Brienne says she’ll pick the jumpsuit up later. 

It’s not like Brienne is going to go to the holiday party, and it’s not like anyone is going to care but maybe it’s another new thing Brienne can get used to here in Westeros. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's the end of November! it's NOT the end of this AU. There's a list of advent prompts I'll be starting tomorrow, all set in this universe, and the friend I've been bouncing ideas off has agreed to beta as I put it together into a real thing.
> 
> In this story, Shireen's [coat](https://www.modcloth.com/shop/outerwear/hell-bunny-cover-me-plaid-coat-in-pink-plaid/166479.html), Shireen's [boots](https://www.llbean.com/llb/shop/79697?page=l-l-bean-snow-boots-lace-up&bc=474-630-506708&feat=506708-GN2&csp=f) and the [jumpsuit](https://www.alloyapparel.com/store/tops-and-dresses/tall-stretch-knit-jumpsuit-1?color=navy-pinstripe) Brienne buys. 
> 
> I'm sure it will surprise all of you much less than Brienne to learn that Shireen WILL invite her for coffee, Brienne WILL attend the holiday party and she WILL wear the jumpsuit in public. And Jaime, who she hasn't even met at this point in the fic, will appreciate it.


End file.
